Allies in Shadows
by Anthony Devon
Summary: Sequel to The Last Dance ... Arrogant, self-serving, and often infuriating. That is how Hermione would describe Killian Finn, a reluctant Slytherin. However, she has never met anyone who inspired such passions within her. But what consequences will their secret friendship reap?
1. Chapter 1 - Where Loyalties Lie

_**Disclaimer - All canon characters/situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I receive no compensation. I mean , I do, but "fun and enjoyment" does not exactly pay the bills, am I right? Essentially, I do not own, I merely borrow ...**_

 _So here we go. Remember that one time in your life when something started, then it led to something else? No? Not descriptive enough? Can be used to describe every single day of someone's life? Of well ... I've never been great at summaries. Anyways, this chapter is something like that. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter One -_

 _Where Loyalties Lie_

It was one week into a new year at Hogwarts. The scars inflicted by the death of Cedric Diggory the previous year had not yet begun to heal. All the while, the incessant mumblings of the return of the Dark Lord weighed heavily on the minds of the students and faculty. The weight of the wizarding world's future hung precariously out of balance.

Foreboding dreariness aside, the morning sky was clear and the air was crisp. As the students commiserated in any one of the numerous courtyards surrounding the castle, they could almost forget the back-alley whispers and monotonous propaganda being spewed about by the Ministry of Magic. For them it seemed, at least outwardly, to simply be the beginning of another term at Hogwarts.

In just such a courtyard, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were taking in some air between classes. Hermione had her head buried in a book, as was customary, while Harry and Ron rambled on about Professor Umbridge and her unusually tame approach to the Defense against the Dark Arts. Normally, Hermione would have interrupted them, as their choice of words bordered on impertinent. Things being how they were, however, she thought that Harry had enough going on inside his head. A healthy rant might do him some good.

"Oi, Hermione," Ron said when he and Harry had enough lambasting for the moment. "Harry and I are going to check out the Quidditch pitch. Decked it out nice this year. You coming?"

Hermione sighed unconsciously. It was truly the last thing that interested her at the moment, or any other moment, for that matter. While pondering over several possible answers that would allow her to pass on the offer, she suddenly noticed a group of first-years across the courtyard. They were huddled around a familiar sixth-year playing chess with what appeared to be a ferret. A subdued smile arose in Hermione's face as she closed her book and gathered her things.

"I'll catch up," she lied, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

"Where're you going?" Harry asked quizzically.

"To watch chess."

Harry and Ron were left dumbfounded, staring at Hermione as she walked off at a brisk pace.

"Watch chess?" Harry asked rhetorically, cocking his head like a befuddled puppy.

"She hates chess," Ron added, his face contorted and confused.

Shrugging it off, the two headed off towards the Quidditch pitch. As Ron had mentioned, with the previous year's Quidditch season being cancelled in lieu of the Triwizard Tournament, there had been many enhancements made to the arena.

Back in the courtyard, Hermione quietly approached the first-years. They were hardly aware of her presence, their eyes fixated on the chessboard and its violently animated game pieces. She stood silent as Killian sat on his stone seat, his elbows resting on the flattened trunk of a fallen tree that doubled as a chess table. His hands were folded under his nose as his eyes wandered over the board. Killian's ferret appeared to be contemplating. After a few moments, the ferret slid his bishop diagonally, taking Killian's knight in grandiose fashion. The first-years let out a wail of cheers and applause.

"Are you seriously losing to a ferret?" Hermione teased, smiling broadly.

Killian did not look up, but Hermione could see a grin peek from the corner of his mouth. She knew she had gotten into his head. Of course, she also knew that he was not about to let her know it.

"Thomas," Killian said as his eyes scanned the board, "like all those who I allow within my inner circle, is quite clever."

Oddly, Hermione never grew tired of his arrogance. Mostly because she knew that a great amount of it was just for show. Also, because she knew that she was, in fact, one of the very few to dwell within the confines of Killian's inner circle.

Killian moved his bishop, only to have it taken rather quickly to the thunderous applause of the spectators.

"Clever enough to have cleared your board," Hermione pointed out, relishing the effect it was having on Killian as he gritted his teeth and stifled another grin.

"Clever, indeed." Killian continued to peruse the chess table. As he did, a sudden glint appeared in his eye. Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what his expression meant. "But not clever enough my weasel-esque adversary."

Killian took Thomas' king. The first-years erupted with excitement. Hermione shook her head in a mixture a dismissal and disgust, knowing full well that it was the exorbitant amount of violence associated with the game and not the game itself that intrigued the young ones.

"A good show, Thomas," Killian conceded as the feisty ferret chirped with random sounds resembling a wet hand being dragged across a balloon. "So that is wizard's chess," Killian divulged to his audience with a dismissive wave. "Now, off with you. I have better things to do than indulge your trivial curiosities."

The scene began to break apart, the first-years mumbling to each other with wide-eyed excitement as they made their way about to explore other areas of Hogwarts' grounds. Killian gathered up his chessboard and stowed it in his bag as Hermione stood waiting, holding her book against her chest.

"Not exactly under the cover of darkness," he remarked as he looked cautiously about the grounds, referring to the manner in which he and Hermione had maintained their friendship over the last several months.

"I was simply watching a fellow student as he showed off for the first-years," Hermione came back with a snap of wit.

"I'm certain you were," Killian nodded with an extreme measure of doubt in his tone.

"I hadn't seen you in the halls," Hermione went on as Killian slung his bag over his shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to leave Hogwarts for Durmstrang."

Killian smiled. "Am I to presume that you were looking for me then?"

Hermione turned her nose in the air in jest. "You are to presume that I am observant."

"Of course," Killian conceded, narrowing his eyes.

"Did you get my last letter?" Hermione asked, clutching her book more firmly to her chest.

Since their chance encounter in the darkened stairway the previous year, most meetings involved a quiet crossing in the library or a walk through the trees the late evening. Each happening was a complete coincidence. They simply came upon each other in passing. Nothing more. At least, that is what Hermione convinced herself. With the tragedy of Cedric's death, however, even those simple moments could not be maintained.

Even so, they had been exchanging letters consistently throughout the summer. Hermione had tried in vain to do the same with Harry and Ron on previous summers, only to find the correspondence to be entirely one-sided. Killian, on the other hand, seemed to embrace the simple tradition of letter writing. With everything that had happened at the end of the previous year, Hermione needed something to keep her mind off of all the overwhelming drama. Killian provided just such a vessel.

"I did," he replied, fishing through his robes and pulling out an envelope. "Unfortunately, due to the late arrival of the letter, I did not believe a correspondence would be timely enough to reach you before the term began. So I have taken the liberty of delivering it in person," he concluded as he handed Hermione the envelope.

"You've been carrying it with you this whole time?" she asked, perplexed, although not as much as she would have been had it been someone else.

"I figured you would come looking for me at some time or another," Killian answered, his arrogant grin beaming across the hollowed features of his face.

Hermione groaned to the sky. She often thought she ought to be disgusted by his arrogance and self-serving mannerisms. They would certainly be well beyond annoying under most circumstances. However, Hermione could not deny that she had never had such intelligent, deep, and logically sound conversations with anyone else. Even taking into consideration that she and Killian rarely agreed—a circumstance she believed he purposefully pursued—she often found herself longing for the next time they could share a moment arguing about the political ramifications of the Goblin Wars or who wrote the best instructional guide to Transfiguration.

"You know," Hermione pointed out, "you could actually just tell me what you wrote. It doesn't make much sense to deliver a letter when you're standing here in the flesh."

"True," Killian agreed. "However, writing the letter encompassed a great amount of my time, and I would like to think that it was not time wasted. Now if you will excuse me," he added with smile and tip of his head, "I am going to be late for class."

He headed off towards the castle with Thomas bounding through the tall grass behind him. Hermione watched for a moment, smiling as she went to put the letter between the pages of her book. Before she could secure the correspondence, Daphne Greengrass bumped her from behind, either carelessly or intentionally, as she walked along on the arm of Adrian Pucey, a seventh-year Slytherin. Hermione's book tumbled out of her arms as the letter blew off.

"Mind your way!" Daphne scoffed as they continued on.

Hermione was going to let it go. After all, it was not the first time that a Slytherin had taken a shot at her, and it certainly was not going to be the last. She always considered herself to be above such trivial acts of aggression. Unfortunately, this time was going to prove different.

"You dropped something," Daphne cackled out as she deliberately stepped on Killian's letter, grinding it into the dirt.

Without warning, something in Hermione snapped. Seeing Killian's letter crumpled under the clumsy gait of Daphne Greengrass summoned a rage within her that erupted like the fire of the Furies. Never one to act without thinking, she uncharacteristically found herself drawing her wand and swinging it through the air.

" _Locomotor mortis_!"

Sparks flew from Hermione's wand and struck Daphne square. The unsuspecting Slytherin's legs went suddenly rigid, freezing mid-step, causing her to fall awkwardly and flat on her face. The theatrical cries that followed were truly something fit for the stage. Pucey drew his wand and reversed Hermione's jinx before helping the dramatic Slytherin to her feet, still wailing as if she had been lashed and scourged.

"What's gotten into you, Mudblood?" Pucey shouted at Hermione as he advanced on her, wand at his side, a menacing glare in his eyes. "Feeling awfully brave, are we?"

Hermione stood her ground, if for no other reason than because she did not know exactly what else to do at the moment. She certainly was not feeling particularly brave. Impetuous and stupid would be the words she would have used to describe her actions. This was why she never acted on impulse. Now she found herself in the middle of a courtyard, being advanced upon by a very capable and very angry seventh-year. Her cleverness would unlikely be of much service under these circumstances.

"Let it go, Pucey," came an extraordinarily welcome voice from behind her.

"Bugger off, Finn!" Pucey scoffed. "This has nothing to do with you!"

"In the interest of fairness," Killian argued casually as he joined Hermione's side, "I am disinclined to agree with you." He addressed Hermione and whispered, "Wonderful example you're setting for the first-years, by the way."

If not for the fact that she was quite relieved he returned, she would have certainly hit him for the comment.

" _Disinclined_?" Pucey asked, as if unfamiliar with the term.

Killian rolled his eyes in disgust. "It means _reluctant_ , you uncultured half-wit."

As Pucey and Daphne exchanged befuddled glances, Nott, Baddock, and Montague—a rather large and unruly seventh-year—joined them in their face-off. Hermione could feel the tension in the air rise, but noticed that Killian remained rather stone-faced. This, she thought, was one of his more Slytherin qualities. That being said, if he was going to subdue his emotions, then she was certainly not going to be outdone.

"Is that how it is, then?" Pucey sneered, glaring at Killian with malicious intent. "And what, exactly, do you plan to do?" he went on, glancing over the motley crew that had gathered by his side. "There're five of us. Only two of you."

Killian drew his wand and swung it with purpose towards Montague. " _Impedimentia_!"

Caught off guard, Hermione jumped as a bolt struck Montague squarely in the chest, hurling him back several yards before he came to rest in the tall grass of the courtyard. The reverberation of Killian's jinx brought notice from many of the students wandering the grounds. Soon, a small crowd began to gather and huddle around the standoff.

" _Four_ of you," Killian corrected, his wand still at the ready, as the remaining Slytherins' faces dropped in shock and awe, baffled by the preemptive strike.

Hermione's hand was shaking as she raised her wand to the ready. Although feeling no remorse for Montague, a slight pinch of fear crept over her as she looked into Killian's cold and emotionless eyes, now fixed upon Pucey. The remaining Slytherins gathered themselves and drew their wands. It appeared that in a matter of seconds, the area was going to digress into something that Hermione would rather not contemplate.

"What's all the fuss then?" came another welcomed voice as Fred and George Weasley came up alongside Hermione.

"Hey Hermione," Fred greeted in a jolly tone. "In a bit of a tussle, are you?"

"Wouldn't be fit to have a row without us," George added, eyeing the Slytherins with a silly grin.

"Not fit at all," Fred agreed.

Killian eyes never flinched as the Weasley twins stood by Hermione like some strange cross between lanky redheaded bodyguards and vibrant court jesters. No, his eyes remained locked on Pucey, monitoring his every pulse, waiting for the next move. It was now four on four. The playing field had been leveled.

"Shall we continue with this mathematical equation?" Killian queried, his eyes narrowing, his wand ready to strike.

Seeing that the odds were no longer in his favor, Pucey reluctantly lowered his wand. The rest of the Slytherins followed suit as Nott and Baddock helped a disorientated Montague to his feet. Killian lowered his wand, but held it firmly by his side, his focus still on Pucey. For Hermione, this was all becoming rather surreal. What had she started, and why was she suddenly filled with a confliction of fear and exhilaration?

"You've made your bed, Finn." Pucey scowled as the Slytherins walked off, Daphne returning to her place on Pucey's arm.

The crowd slowly dispersed, much to the chagrin of many of the onlookers. Not a moment too soon, as far as Hermione was concerned. She was sure that a gathering of students that large was certain to draw the attention of the faculty had it continued on for much longer. She certainly did not want to start the year in detention for being the cause of a riot on the school grounds.

"Well, aren't we popular this year?" George laughed, putting his arm around Hermione's shoulder as they watched the Slytherins retreat into Hogwarts.

"Very popular," Fred agreed.

"And who do we have here?" George gestured to Killian. "Scuffling within your own House? That's a bit off, isn't it?

"The Slytherin House at that," Fred added.

"And standing with a Gryffindor?" George went on.

Fred smiled and gave Killian a nudge in the arm. "One would have to wonder where your loyalties lie."

"Maybe he's a _Slythindor_ ," George suggested.

"Or a _Grifferin_ ," Fred suggested further.

Hermione could tell that Fred and George were having entirely too much fun. She also noticed that Killian seemed oddly uncomfortable. His eyes danced between Fred and George as they went on in their usual fashion, as if searching for the right words that would allow him to escape the current company and circumstances.

"Well, I'll say that I don't envy your visit to the common room this evening," George began.

"But any friend of Hermione is right with us," Fred finished.

"Do not draw any conclusions," Killian explained humbly. "I just happened along. That's all."

It pained Hermione to hear Killian deny her, but she knew that this was the course they had chosen. She and Killian were not exactly hiding their friendship, but they were not flaunting it either. Neither of them was entirely sure how cautiously or openly to proceed. As they had discussed in the past, the differences between their Houses could potentially wreak havoc.

"You happened along, all right," Fred concurred, dismissing Killian's humility.

"And blew Montague right out of his knickers," George added.

"An excellent strategy, by the way," Fred pointed out.

"Take out the biggest wand first," George agreed.

"You will have to excuse me, I have to get to class," Killian interjected as he bent down and picked up the envelope that had set this series of events into motion. "This was yours, I believe." He, once again, handed the envelope to Hermione. A slight, reassuring grin escaped the corner of his mouth as his eyes met with hers.

She took the letter and smiled, her cheeks warming. "Thank you."

With that, Killian walked off, leaving Hermione with the Weasley twins, who were still commenting on the distance that Montague had traveled while airborne. She watched as Killian disappeared into Hogwarts, wondering if Fred and George had picked up on anything. Did they actually believe his explanation about having come along by mere coincidence? They had certainly remarked about the oddity of a Slytherin standing by a Gryffindor. Contrary to what many thought, the Weasley twins were not as mindless and unobservant as they played themselves out to be, and they clearly must have suspected there was more to the altercation in the courtyard than what was being let on.

Alas, she dismissed her fears. Even if Fred and George had noticed, there were few people at Hogwarts whom she believed she could trust more with such a secret. She gathered herself up, tucking Killian's missive safely away in her robes with a heavy-hearted sigh. With the clock tower bell chiming, the trio made their way out of the courtyard and headed to class.


	2. Chapter 2 - Trolls in the Dungeons

_So here is the second chapter, aptly named Trolls in the Dungeons. Why aptly named? I don't know. Someone actually says something about a troll in the dungeon during the chapter. Is that the definition of aptly named? Probably not. But it sounds good._

 _I digress ... Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Two -_

 _Trolls in the Dungeons_

As evening fell, Hermione made her way to the solitude of the Gryffindor dorms. She knew everyone would be commiserating in the common room for several more hours before retiring for the night. This finally gave Hermione an opportunity to read Killian's letter with a certain air of privacy. The anticipation had been eating away at her throughout the day as she made several attempts to find a secluded area, only to be thwarted by the usually welcome company of Harry, Ron, or both. Finally, she thought as she carelessly tore through the envelope and removed the letter from within, she had a moment to herself.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Although I sit and put quill to parchment, I fear this letter will not reach you before we return to Hogwarts for the upcoming term. That being the possibility, it is likely you will have the pleasure of receiving this letter by personal delivery._

 _In regards to my sister's wedding ... please stop fidgeting with your hair._

Hermione sighed, disgusted in realizing that she had, in fact, been twirling her fingers through a lock of her hair. _He thinks he's so clever_ , she thought while making a conscious effort to keep her hands on the letter as she read on.

 _As I was saying, in regards to my sister's wedding, it went on as well as can be expected. Due to last minute changes in the arrangements, as my sister has great difficulties with her decision-making processes, the ceremony and frivolities that followed were held on the family grounds. There was plenty of food, drink, music, dancing, and hundreds of guests, most of whom I had never met. I, myself, stayed long enough to fulfill my obligations as the sibling of the bride before finding a quiet area elsewhere in the manor to lose myself in a rather dry book of short essays on natural calamities. Unfortunately, there was no emotionally frustrated individual wandering the halls to rescue me from my literary torture._

Hermione laughed to herself as a warmth arose in her cheeks. The afterhours of the Yule Ball flashed through her mind. What an odd set of circumstances it had been that had led to their chance encounter. She could have wandered down any of the snaking halls of the castle that night. She could have just stayed in the dorms altogether. The odds of them crossing paths were astronomically minute at best.

 _Moving on to your comments about Fenrick Culious and his "unjust" incarceration for carrying a concealed wand within the Muggle community. It would interest you to know that while, in principle, you are correct, his incarceration fell well within the boundaries of the laws of the time. Culious was convicted by the Wizengamot in 1690. The International Confederation of Wizards met in 1692 to discuss and pass laws on several key securities within the wizarding community, including the allowance of any wizard to carry a wand at all times, regardless of the community or environment. It is all documented in "The Laws and Securities of the International Confederation of Wizards." We have a first edition in our library if you would like to confirm the facts. I would be happy to bring it for your reading pleasure._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Killian_

With a disgusted huff, Hermione tossed the letter onto her bed. She was well aware that Fenrick Culious was convicted in 1690. She was also aware that his actions would have been allowed following the ruling by the International Confederation of Wizards in 1692. That was her entire point regarding his unjust incarceration. After 1692, his crime was no longer considered illegal nor punishable in any regard. Being that his only offense was having a wand on his person, not actually brandishing it in the face of a Muggle, Hermione felt his sentence should have been overturned.

She grabbed a piece of parchment and quill and began to write her retort. She was sure that Killian knew exactly what she was alluding to in her letter, but was simply going to force her to put it out there in clear detail. He was extraordinarily frustrating in that sense. Regardless, the passion it invoked in her made her almost euphoric as her words raced from her mind and stained the parchment.

As she finished her letter and sealed it in an envelope with a quick wisp of her tongue, Hermione began to ponder exactly how she was going to deliver her reply. Certainly, an owl would be pointless and time consuming. Her solution arrived in the form of, Crimna, one of Hogwarts' house-elves, who had, as luck would have it, just entered the room to turn down the beds.

Hermione bit her lip in contemplation. Using a house-elf would certainly be going against the very principles of S.P.E.W. However, given the current circumstances, she saw no other viable option. If Harry and Ron were available, she would ask them to deliver the letter, so asking Crimna to do it would be no different than asking a friend for a favor. This, of course, was complete rubbish, but she would use it as justification just the same.

"Excuse me," Hermione asked quietly of the house-elf as she delicately began turning down the sheets of the far bed.

Crimna jumped, startled that Hermione had spoken to her.

"Would student likes to be left alones?" she asked, her voice trembling, her eyes fixed on the floor as she nervously laced her fingers through the tattered pillowcase she wore as a makeshift garment.

"No, of course not," Hermione reassured. "I was actually hoping you could help me with a problem that I'm having."

"If pleases student," Crimna answered meekly, still failing to make eye contact.

"I need this letter delivered to a particular student," Hermione began, presenting the envelope. "And it is very important the letter arrives discreetly."

The reticent house-elf finally looked up at Hermione, wearing a sudden and surprisingly cheerful smile. "Crimna can be discreets,"she said with sudden, albeit reserved, excitement. "Crimna is very goods with secrets. Whose is letter?"

"Killian Finn," Hermione answered, feeling far less guilty as she observed the almost childlike glee in Crimna's mannerisms at the thought of being a part of a secret. "In Slytherin House."

The excitement in house-elf's expression melted away, as her saucer eyes filled with sudden anxiety. "Student asks I goes to the dungeons?"

Hermione's heart was wrenching as she realized Crimna clearly wanted nothing to do with wandering the bowels of Hogwarts' dungeons. The brief moment when Hermione thought she might have actually been offering Crimna a speck of happiness in her mundane and overworked life had evaporated before it even manifested in full. But still, she could find no alternative manner by which to convey her missive.

Desperately, she tried to think of a anything that could effectively persuade the timid creature. After a few moments of Hermione attempting with futility to muster a plausible thought, Crimna simply took the letter from Hermione's hand with a humble sigh.

"I do as student requests," she conceded.

Before Hermione could issue her thanks, the house-elf disappeared with a snap of her fingers.

Hermione now sat alone on her bed, conflicted with thoughts twisting and contorting within the vastness of her mind. She felt horrible for sending Crimna to the dungeons. Perhaps there was a better way. Maybe if she had thought about it for a moment longer, she could have arrived at a different solution.

Wallowing in thought, she was suddenly interrupted as Crimna returned with a resounding crack. She was still holding Hermione's letter for Killian, her eyes wider than normal, if that were even possible. Trembling with fear, she was seemingly afraid to speak.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, coming down from her bed and kneeling in front of the house-elf.

"Apologies, apologies," she began, her lips quivering. "I not delivers letter as student asks."

"Why?" Hermione questioned further. "Did someone see you?"

"No," Crimna assured. "No one sees."

"Then, what happened?"

"Terrible things," Crimna answered direly. "Terrible things in dungeons."

With that, she dropped the letter on the floor and Disapparated, leaving Hermione to ponder what the cryptic explanation meant. As she attempted to piece things together, she heard a commotion coming from the Gryffindor common room. She quickly picked up the letter and tucked it away in her shirt as she made her way down the spiraling set of stone steps leading from the dormitories.

When she reached the common room, she realized the news about the dungeons was spreading fast. Dean Thomas was regaling the room with bits of information he had overheard on his way from the Great Hall.

"Giant hole, I heard!" he exclaimed. "Blown right through the entrance to the Slytherin House! Stones and rubble everywhere!"

"What do you think happened?" Katie Bell asked as the other students listened in awe.

"Maybe there's another troll in the dungeons," Ron joked as he popped a chocolate frog in his mouth.

"I don't know," Dean went on. "Everyone's being real hushed about it. But, I'm telling you it was like a bloody battleground, the way I hear it. Ran into Ernie Macmillan on the way here. Said he caught a glimpse of everything before all the students were evacuated. Crazy!"

"Was anyone hurt?" Hermione asked, her face twisted with concern.

"Who cares?" Ron mocked with a mouthful of chocolate. "It's all Slytherins down there."

"Slytherins or not!" Hermione shouted angrily. "They're still students!"

Hermione's comments were met with the hush of astonished stares. Most noticeable to Hermione among the glassy eyes that fell upon her were those of Fred and George, who seemed more contemplative than shocked.

"That's right, git," Fred agreed, slapping Ron across the back of the head.

"We're all students here," George finished.

Suddenly disinterested with the present company, Hermione stormed back up the stairs to the dorms and threw herself onto her bed. She wanted desperately to reach out to someone and find out what happened, but knew that there was no possible way in which to do so. She was sure Killian was fine. She simply wanted the reassurance. She wanted to hear his voice telling her that he was safe and everything was all right.

As she lay there with horrific images flashing through her mind, she slowly drifted off to sleep. Her subconscious would not give her peace, however, as she dreamt of several mountain trolls cornering her in the dark confines of the castle dungeons, only to find that her wand was nothing more than a piece of half-eaten licorice.

. . .

The next morning, Hermione rushed herself ready and made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast, eager to catch a glimpse of Killian sitting safely at the Slytherin table. Just to see him, to put her mind at ease, that was all she wanted. But as she sat among her fellow Gryffindors, half-heartedly picking at her bowl of porridge, she saw no sign of him.

The Great Hall was filled with idle gossip and speculations about the previous night's events, ranging from the mundane to the overly dramatic. Of course, no one had any idea of what had actually transpired, but a lack of facts never tightened any tongues. The idea that everyone appeared to be relishing in the torments of the Slytherin House made Hermione's stomach turn.

"You all right?" Harry asked, clearly noticing Hermione's discontent.

"I don't feel well," Hermione answered, casting another inconspicuous glance towards the Slytherin table.

"You don't look well," Harry pointed out. "You should drink something," he added, offering her a glass of pumpkin juice.

Ron mumbled something with a mouthful of corn muffin. Although impossible to decipher, Hermione concluded it was his attempt to agree with Harry.

"I just need to get some air," she said as she pushed her bowl away and stood, slinging her overburdened bag over her shoulder. With a last glance at the Slytherin table, she left the Great Hall, nervously pulling at a lock of her hair.

Lunch and dinner left Hermione with the same feeling of emptiness, as Killian failed to show for either. She had hardly eaten all day, her mind wandering, her classes a seamless blur. Unable to stomach the aromas that wafted from the tables, she left dinner prematurely and headed out of the Great Hall, much to the continued concern of Harry and Ron.

Making her way to the Gryffindor common room, she found herself alone, the crackling embers of the fireplace providing her only company. Slumping down in one of the long couches, she stared into the glowing coals, feeling helpless. Where was he?

"Hey, Hermione," George said cheerfully as he and Fred entered the common room with a handful of Exploding Snaps and several apples.

"Feeling a bit off, are we?" Fred asked. "Want an apple?"

"I'm fine," Hermione replied, trying to temper her tone. She had grown tired of people asking after her well-being.

"Saw your friend," Fred said, tossing an apple to George, who took an enormous bite. "What was his name again? Flick? Flint?"

"Finn, wasn't it?" George asked with a glint in his eye.

Hermione sat up instinctively, but quickly attempted to play it off as if she was merely shifting on the couch. She really needed to mind her reactions.

"He's not a friend," she scoffed, trying to cover up. Her denial of Killian stung almost as much as his denial of her in the courtyard the previous day.

"Really?" George asked. "Our mistake, then."

Fred rubbed his chin. "Guess you wouldn't be interested to know he just got a letter?"

"And headed out to the garden," George added. "What, five minutes ago?"

"Two at best, I'd say," Fred corrected.

Hermione sat on the couch, biting her lip and trying to appear disinterested in the information the Weasley twins had presented. She could feel their eyes on the back of her head as she stared at the embers in the fire, contemplating her next move.

"You can go now," Fred said, his grin beaming as he cored one of the apples and filled it with Exploding Snaps.

So there it was. An odd wave of relief rolled through Hermione as she leapt from the couch and headed out of the common room. She was now certain that Fred and George knew her secret. She was further relieved in the realization that they would neither betray her nor Killian. If that was their intention, they certainly had ample opportunity throughout the day to so do. It simply was not in their nature.

Hermione raced down the stairs and out into the courtyard leading to the garden. The sun had set, but the sky was still illuminated in the twilight cast from the faint rays peeking from the edge of the horizon line over the Black Lake. As she approached the garden, her eyes still adjusting to the dim light, she heard a man's voice. Although she could not make out the words, his tone appeared to be quite angry. She glanced cautiously around the corner just in time to see the explosion of paper from Killian's Howler.

Killian's head hung low as he slumped down on the stone bench next to one of the many atriums encompassing the garden. Hermione quietly approached, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. Killian, apparently unaware of her presence, flinched unexpectedly. He then spun around and greeted Hermione with a forced smile.

He did not look quite as well dressed as normal. His robes were in order, but his hair, which he religiously kept back in a clean ponytail, was hanging free. A portion of it fell forward and covered his left eye.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized as she retreated a step. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Nonsense," Killian assured. "That was just ... Well, my father sends his regards," he added with more of a grimace than a smile as he slowly got to his feet, something that did not go unnoticed by Hermione.

"You _were_ hurt!" she gasped.

"Calm down. It's nothing to be-" Killian began dismissively.

Hermione withdrew her wand and directed it towards Killian. " _Lumos_!"

The end of Hermione's wand glowed with a bright white light, illuminating the air around them. She could now see a large welt under Killian's eye, partially concealed by his hair, and a nasty split in his lower lip.

"My God, Killian," she said, covering her mouth. "Your face!"

"It's nothing," he offered in a failed attempt at reassurance. "Honestly."

Hermione pushed his hair aside to get a better look at his eye. "What happened?"

"I fell," Killian lied as he pulled Hermione's prying hand away from his face.

"You fell?" Hermione asked with doubt. "How many times?"

"Several, I imagine," Killian answered, his devilish grin emanating from below his battered features.

"You're lying to me! It's all over the school! What happened in the dungeons?"

Killian remained silent. Hermione was not sure if it was because he did not want to answer or because he could not come up with a plausible lie. Either way, she was not about to let him off the hook by his charm and persuasive manners.

"Stop smiling and answer me," she persisted.

"It was nothing," Killian insisted. "There was an accident. That is all. We were strictly instructed not to speak of it. We do not want to cause any doubt about the safety of the students and all of that. You know how parents can be."

"An accident?" Hermione asked, doubting whether she could believe this explanation. It seemed to be a bit simplified given the gravity of the damage that the other students had reported.

"You look a fright," Killian said with a soft smile.

"Well, you don't exactly look like a basket of fruit," Hermione retorted, letting her irritation with Killian's lack of forthrightness melt away.

"I suppose not," he conceded. "Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Well, why don't we head inside?"

The two cautiously made their way out of the garden and through the courtyard towards the castle.

"I was worried sick about you today," Hermione admitted as they checked to make sure no one was about.

"Were you?" Killian asked, stopping in his tracks, seemingly genuinely surprised.

"Of course I was," Hermione answered, slightly insulted that Killian would question her on the matter. "I hear that terrible things happened in the dungeons, you don't show up for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, I don't see you in the halls—"

Killian placed his hand over Hermione's mouth in an attempt to cease her nagging. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to worry you. It won't happen again."

Feeling his skin against her lips made Hermione's breath quiver. It was the first time they had such an intimate contact since the night they met. With few exceptions, their encounters had consisted mostly of words on paper or brief moments in time that barely offered a simple conversation. However, she was still angry with Killian and was not going to let a simple touch dissuade her.

"Oh, shut up," she huffed, slapping his hand away and continuing towards the Great Hall. "And you're a jerk for not letting me know that you were all right."

Killian smiled and followed. "Duly noted."

They arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall and peered inside. It was not nearly as full as it had been when Hermione had left. Harry and Ron were still at the table, engaged in some form of conversation or another with several other Gryffindors. Aside from that, the majority of the students appeared to have retired to their respective common rooms.

"I would suggest that we head in separately," Killian whispered. "We don't want to make a scene, do we?"

Hermione shook her head dismissively and entered the Great Hall, heading for the gathering at her House table. Harry and Ron immediately noticed her arrival and slid aside, offering her a place to sit.

"There you are," Ron said. "We were wondering where you'd gone. We were just hearing about the duel in the dungeons."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, helping herself to what was left on the table.

"Seamus was just telling us," Harry answered.

"Telling you what?" Hermione questioned further.

"Go on." Harry gestured to Seamus, who was leaning against the table amongst the listening Gryffindors.

"Well, I went to see Madam Pomfrey," he began. "Had bit of an accident in Potions."

"Nearly burned your hand off is more of the way I would have described it," Lavender teased.

The table broke out in laughter as Ron nudged Seamus, who turned red with embarrassment, shaking his head and gesturing for everyone to quiet down.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" he asked in a mock threat.

"Of course we do," Katie answered. "Just keep your wand where we can see it."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, laughing. "For everyone's safety."

Hermione wished they would all simply shut up so that Seamus could continue. She feigned disinterest, but kept her ears open, hoping to find some sense of truth in his story.

"Anyway," Seamus began again. "So I head up, and there isn't an empty bed in the whole room. There had to be seven or eight students laid up there. All Slytherins."

"All of them?" Lavender asked with disbelief.

"Every one of 'em," Seamus confirmed. "I know, because I asked Daphne Greengrass. She was there, visiting with one of 'em. She's a bitter little bat if I ever saw one."

Daphne's name rang through Hermione's ears like the bells of Notre Dame. Daphne Greengrass was visiting someone in the hospital wing? Hermione could think of only one person.

"Who was she visiting?" Harry asked, as if he could hear Hermione's thoughts.

"Pucey," Seamus answered. "Though you couldn't tell it by looking at 'im. Face looked like it had been through the ringer more than a bit."

Pucey. Of course it was Pucey. Who else would Daphne take time to visit? Maybe it was a coincidence. Hermione could hope for coincidence, even though every aspect of logic within her argued vehemently against it.

"Who else was there?" Lavender asked, her eyes widened with anticipation.

"How can you even tell?" Ron mocked. "All those Slytherins look the same."

The group broke out into laugher once again, with the exception of Hermione, who was staring daggers through the back of Ron's head. His lack of etiquette disgusted her at times. She should not really be angry. After all, Ron had no idea how cutting his words were to her. Then again, maybe that was the point. He never thought about who his words might hurt.

"There were several," Seamus continued after everyone quieted down a bit. "Nott, Baddock, Montague ..."

"Montague?" Dean exclaimed. "That mug is bloody huge!"

"Yeah," Seamus agreed. "Well, he's a bloody mess now. There were others, too. Harper, Bulstrode, and a couple more I didn't recognize."

"So what happened?" Katie asked. "Did Daphne say anything?"

"Not much," Seamus admitted. "Said she wasn't there. Thinks there must have been some sort of scuffle in the common room. Didn't say about what. Got ugly, though, that's for sure. Tore the room to shreds, blasted that hole in the House entrance. Snape was bloody furious when he came upon it!"

Harry laughed. "I'll bet." He seemed to enjoy the thought of Snape realizing he had lost control of the students within his own House.

"I bet Montague blasted Pucey," Dean theorized. "I would have. Pucey's a real git."

"Probably," Lavender agreed. "That would explain why everyone else was hurt."

"Yeah," Ron surmised. "Take a good four or five people to separate those two."

"Not the way Daphne figures it," Seamus interjected. "Says she thinks it was someone else. Name was Finn or something like that."

"Who's Finn?" Katie asked as the Gryffindors looked amongst each other with blank stares, shaking their heads.

 _Killian Finn_ , Hermione thought, her heart aching. Of course they would not know him. He was her secret, and they could not have him. They would not understand.

As she sat there listening to the table of students as they described the person they had never met nor heard of before that day, Hermione stared at her plate, fighting back the urge to cry. It was her fault. She knew it was her fault. They went after Killian because he stood by her side in the courtyard. He should not have come back that morning. He should have kept walking. He could have continued to be an unknown. Now everything had changed.

She glanced at the Slytherin table. Everyone at her table was too engrossed in conversation to pay any attention. She saw Killian sitting alone, his hair still hanging over his left eye to cover the underlying bruises. She also noticed the many Slytherins casting a watchful eye in his direction as he ate.

Even from a distance, she could see him biting his lower lip and wincing uncomfortably as he chewed. He was in more pain than he let on, but that did not surprise her at all. He was too proud for his own good at times.

As she watched him, Hermione was hit with a conflict of emotions. Everything that had transpired was due to her actions. But what had _he_ done? What was he _capable_ of doing? There were several Slytherins currently under the care of Madam Pomfrey, and Killian was not one of them. Why was she not afraid?

Killian looked up from his table, his eyes meeting with Hermione's for a brief moment. She saw his familiar grin sneak out from the corner of his mouth.

 _He's intolerable_ , she thought as she looked away so as not to be noticed making eyes across the Great Hall.

As she finished her dinner, Hermione smiled to herself. She did not know what tomorrow was going to bring, nor did she even care. He was still her secret. She was not afraid.


	3. Chapter 3 - Oaths, Vows, and the Unknown

_A little bit of fair warning here. This is the last of the tommy-gun rapid fire postings for a while (and no, even I don't know what that is supposed to mean) ... I looked back at the original stories and noticed that, particularly in this one, I skipped over huge chunks of the school year. For instance, in the original story, this chapter is in the late fall. The next chapter was all the way in the middle of spring. Well, technically that's not true. It's supposed to be right after this. But then I realized I messed up on some timeline issues, pushing an event from the books that took place in the spring and placing it in the fall. So I'm actually going to be writing new chapters that add more to the story and fill in the blanks on those huge time gaps I had the first time through. Alas, we're not talking about weeks between postings. More like 3-4 days vs the everyday postings I have done thus far. So please forgive in advance._

 _But I digress ... And I have a lot of writing to do ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Three -_

 _Oaths, Vows, and the Unknown Slytherin_

Several weeks had passed. The students at Hogwarts slowly seemed to forget about the strange happenings in the bowels of the dungeons. At least, it appeared that they had forgotten. Hardly a word was spoken of it. A whisper here, a rumor there. For the most part, whatever had occurred amongst the Slytherins was quietly and entirely being swept under the rug.

This was all well and good for the rest of the school. For Hermione, however, it was entirely different. She was not one to be left curious. Killian's bruises may have faded, his wounds healed, but visions of that day still burned in her memory as clearly as if they had happened just that morning.

One evening, as the sun began to set beyond the Black Lake, Hermione found her favorite recluse near the shoreline casting stones into the dark waters. Although still hiding in the shadows, her relationship with Killian had somehow grown stronger with the events earlier in the year. Nevertheless, Killian did not seem to handle his sudden notoriety very well, relying more and more upon Hermione's company as an escape from the watchful eyes around him. He would deny this, of course, but she knew it to be true.

Killian skipped a stone across the water. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"It was difficult to come up with a viable excuse," Hermione said. "At least one that I hadn't used already," she quickly added.

"All these lies and pretexts," Killian mused. "One would think we're trying to hide something."

Hermione cast a narrow glare at Killian. He did love to tease her. Always looking to rile her up about one thing or another.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said simply. "I have nothing _worth_ hiding."

"Touché." Killian grinned. "So what meaninglessness is not worth concealing this evening?" he went on, casting another stone.

"Nothing really," Hermione admitted, grabbing and casting a stone of her own. "It's been relatively mundane lately. Classes are classes, nothing particularly unexpected. With the exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts, that is. Professor Umbridge is entirely intolerable."

Killian laughed and shook his head. "Nonsense. You're just saying that because she's taking a more rudimentary approach to the Dark Arts."

"Rudimentary?" Hermione scoffed. "It's beyond rudimentary! It's downright pointless! Not fit for an infant, let alone a student."

"That's rather harsh, isn't it?"

Hermione was exasperated. "You're not seriously defending her, are you?"

Killian turned to her and grinned. She suddenly felt silly, realizing that he had, once again, pushed her buttons for his own amusement.

"I would never defend that hag of an old woman," he assured. "Professor Umbridge is an obnoxious toad whose venomous virus spreads though these halls like a pandemic. There," he punctuated. "Feel better?"

"Now you're just trying to pacify me," Hermione snipped.

"Oh, come now ..." Killian laughed again. "You know I would never attempt to pacify you."

This was true. Killian's personality certainly seemed heavily weighted in infuriating individuals rather than pacification. This was particularly the case with Hermione, a favorite target of his.

Hermione sighed and cast another stone into the lake. As she did, Killian drew his wand and fired upon her stone, attempting to keep it skipping along the water's surface for as long as he could hold the charm. For several moments, they continued on as such, the only sound being the occasional splash as Hermione's stone got beyond the reach of Killian's cast.

"I heard a few students talking about you today," Hermione said, breaking the lull in their conversation.

"Is that right?" Killian asked, paying little attention to the comment.

"Well, not about you specifically," Hermione corrected. "Just about that _Slytherin._ I mean, it was about you, they just didn't know exactly who you were."

Killian sighed. "I was hoping such talk would have died away by now."

"Oh, they weren't talking about whatever happened in your House," Hermione clarified. "It was more about you, in particular."

Killian now seemed genuinely interested. "What about me?"

"Just things in general," Hermione answered dismissively. "Who you were, what classes you were taking, how brooding you look, things like that. It was really quite sickening."

"So these were _girls_ who were talking about me then?"

"Oh stop yourself," Hermione chastised as she cast her next stone at Killian's shoulder.

"I'm kidding," he assured as he flicked the stone away with a wave of his wand. "You know I could not possibly care less about all of this drabble. In reality, I'm rather disappointed that my anonymity has been taken from me. And again, I must thank you for that," he added with a raised eyebrow.

"Does it really bother you that much?" Hermione asked as a tinge of guilt ran up her spine. "I don't understand why you wish to hide from everyone."

Killian grinned devilishly. "Present company excluded, of course." He looked down at the water and sighed. "I don't know. The whispers and gossip are truly numbing to me. I felt better when I was ignored. Now it seems as though everyone is either annoyingly curious or afraid of me."

"They're not afraid of you," Hermione said, attempting some form of comfort.

"It is sweet of you to lie, but I am not an oblivious fool," Killian assured. "Things are just different now, is all. But nothing can be done for it, so there is no reason to wallow about. Although, I admit there are moments when I think of what I would not give for a Time Turner … Go back and change things."

"Are you saying that if you could go back and do it again that you wouldn't have defended me?" Hermione asked, feigning insult.

"Of course not," Killian answered. "I would not dream of leaving you to your own defenses. I would, however, attempt to dissuade a certain someone from instigating a confrontation."

"Well, I'm not sure _Daphne_ would have listened to you," Hermione said, turning her nose in the air and tossing another stone.

"Yes ... _Daphne_. Exactly of whom I was referring," Killian said with marked sarcasm as he flicked his wand, causing Hermione's stone to dance along the water's surface.

A silence fell between the two once again. This was not uncommon. They often found themselves engaged in conversation one moment and enjoying the quiet company the next. But the silence was never uncomfortable. Not usually, at any rate. This time was a bit different for Hermione. She still felt guilt over the events that took place in the courtyard and the conflicts that had ensued since.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" she asked as she stepped back from the water's edge and sat on a large stone near the shore.

"What happened with what?" Killian dodged.

"Don't be difficult," Hermione chastised.

Killian turned to Hermione. "You're not still beating yourself up over that nonsense, are you?" he asked. "You're making a fuss over nothing."

"I saw your face bruised and bloody," she countered. "It was more than nothing."

"Better my face than yours," Killian teased as he placed his a gentle hand against Hermione's cheek.

She closed her eyes, momentarily distracted before quickly pushing his hand away. "You are not that charming," she said obstinately.

"Yes, I am," Killian disagreed. "Maybe even more so."

"Why won't you talk to me about this?" she asked, attempting to keep the conversation on point regardless of Killian's dodging. "Every time I bring it up, you dismiss it away."

Killian gazed into the night sky. He then looked back at Hermione, opening his mouth several times as if to speak, but stopping just short of any actual sound.

"Hermione," he finally said. "It's not that I _will not_ speak of it. I _cannot_ speak of it."

"What do you mean you cannot?" Hermione asked, slightly agitated at the notion. "Why not? Because of some newfound loyalty to your House? Well, loyalty be damned!"

Killian gritted his teeth and stared at her. She could tell that he was contemplating his next words very carefully. It made her smile when she knew she had frustrated him to the point of speechlessness. She was sure he would have lashed out at someone else, but with her, he always restricted himself to a more tempered approach.

"All right," he said after a long, deep, and controlled breath. "You want to know why I cannot speak of it?"

"Yes," Hermione concurred.

"Fine." He gestured over Hermione's shoulder. "Do you see the student sitting in the courtyard, reading?"

Hermione followed Killian's finger and, after a moment, saw the young boy sitting on a stone bench alongside the outer wall of the courtyard.

"What is he doing out on the grounds after hours?" Hermione asked.

"Well, that's a bit off the point," Killian answered. "And slightly hypocritical, given our current presence," he added.

"I'm a prefect," Hermione dismissed.

Killian rolled his eyes. "At any rate, his name is Peter …Percival … Paul … something like that. He's a Slytherin. Go on and ask him about it."

"If he's a Slytherin," Hermione scoffed, "he's not going to say anything. The whole lot of you haven't spoken a word of it."

"He's a first year, and like all first years, he is quite naïve," Killian explained. "Just tell him that you already know of it and ask for some form of clarification. It shouldn't be too difficult for you. You are quite persuasive when you wish to be."

Hermione crinkled her nose at Killian. She was a bit upset that he refused to simply answer her questions. But if he was going to play games, she was not going to give up. If she needed to ask the young Slytherin sitting alone in the courtyard, so be it. She got up and made her way across the field. Before long, she was close enough to the first year for him to notice her.

"Oh," he said, startled as he quickly stood and fumbled his book to the ground. "I'm sorry. I was just reading. The common room—"

"It's all right," Hermione assured. "I know the feeling. I'm not going to turn you in."

"Thanks," the first year bumbled as he reached for his book and brushed it off. "I know I'm not supposed to be outside after hours."

"Peter, isn't it?" Hermione inquired.

"William," the first year corrected.

 _Peter …Percival … Paul … something like tha_ t, Hermione thought, with a glance back towards the area where Killian was hiding in the shadows. _What an idiot!_ Collecting herself with a deep breath, she moved on. "William then. How are you enjoying your first year?"

"I love it," William answered with a bright smile and beaming eyes.

Hermione was briefly reminded of the wonderment she felt during her first several weeks at Hogwarts. Like stepping into a dream. "Probably a bit more exciting than you anticipated," she led on.

"Yeah, a bit," William agreed.

"I'm sure you weren't expecting anything like that incident in your common room," Hermione continued.

The first year Slytherin withdrew, looking at the ground and shifting from one foot to the other. "We're not to speak of that," he said meekly.

"Oh, it's all right," Hermione lied. "I already know about it."

"You do?" William asked with surprise.

"Of course," Hermione said. "I mean, I don't know every detail, but I'm well aware of it in the general sense. Were you there when it happened?"

"Yeah," William answered with some reluctance. "It was a bit scary."

"I'll bet it was. I heard it was dreadful," Hermione continued on seamlessly, getting anxious as she sensed that she was nearing some answers. "That first jinx, in particular."

"Whose first jinx?" William asked rhetorically. "There were so many."

Hermione laughed. "I suppose you're right. With all of the commotion, I suppose it was difficult to distinguish who was even the first to strike."

"Well, I guess technically it was—" William began before suddenly cutting off.

A second later, he grasped at his throat as his tongue began to swell and protrude from his mouth, a pulsing mass of muscle and tissue. Hermione gasped and stepped back, unsure of both what was happening and what to do about it.

Killian walked over and casually reached into his cloak. He pulled out several dried pixum leaves and ground them in his hand as the terrified first year gasped and wheezed. Killian then cupped his hand and blew through his fingers, casting a spray of leaf dust across William's distorted features.

Almost immediately, the first-year's face began to soften and return to its previously innocent form. When his tongue had diminished enough to breath properly, he bent over with his hands on his knees, desperate for air.

"T-T-Thank you," he stuttered as he regained his composure.

"Don't thank me," Killian said simply. "Pixum leaves are only a temporary fix. In about ten minutes you'll be no better off. Here," he went on, handing William a piece of chocolate. "Chew on this. It will coat your tongue and slow the process."

William took the chocolate and jammed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously.

"Breaking our oath, are we?" Killian asked of William, who hung his head in shame.

"I didn't mean to." William pointed weakly at Hermione, who was utterly speechless. "She said she already knew. I didn't think—"

"Lesson one," Killian said with a wink. "Never trust a Gryffindor."

"I know," William said, again hanging his head in shame. "I'm sorry."

"Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness," Killian snapped at the first year. "Just don't be so trusting of strangers. Now, off to Madame Pomfrey with you before your tongue explodes again."

"But she'll tell Professor Snape," William said, his eyes wide with fear. "He'll kill me if he hears."

"I will speak to Professor Snape," Killian assured. "Off with you!"

Without another word, William turned and raced into Hogwarts.

Hermione glared at Killian, who seemed relatively pleased with himself. "You knew, didn't you?" she asked, slapping him across the shoulder. "You knew exactly what would happen."

"Of course I did," Killian answered. "I told you I couldn't speak of it. You didn't believe me. I figured the only way to resolve the issue was for you to see it with your own eyes."

"See what?" Hermione exasperated. "I don't have any idea what I saw."

"You saw the effects of an Unbreakable Oath," Killian said simply.

"You can't be serious!" Hermione said. "There's no way the school would allow for any students to engage in an Unbreakable Oath!"

"Do not confuse it with an Unbreakable Vow," Killian said.

"Oath, vow, what's the difference?" Hermione asked.

"You mean, aside from the fact that a failure to adhere to an Unbreakable Vow results in death?" Killian asked with a grin.

Hermione was not amused. She was not quite angry either. She was somewhere in between. She should have been angry. She would have been with anyone else. But at this moment, she was far too intrigued to waste her energies on an emotion so draining.

"An Unbreakable Oath is a simple charm that ensures secrecy," Killian explained. "When one engages in such an oath, he or she is obligated to keep it less the offending appendage swell to prevent the secret from being revealed."

"So his tongue began to swell …" Hermione began.

"… to prevent him from speaking," Killian finished. "If he had attempted to write of the events, his hand would have swollen, and so on."

"You know you could have just told me that," Hermione pointed out, kicking Killian playfully in the shin.

"True," he agreed. "However, I found my way much more entertaining."

Hermione frowned and turned away from Killian, heading away from the courtyard and into the surrounding field. Killian followed behind, catching up after only a few steps.

"You're angry," he surmised as they walked along.

"I just," Hermione started. "Not knowing what happened … It's maddening."

Killian stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Hermione refused to look at him as he attempted to make eye contact. She felt silly. She felt guilty. She felt a lot of things. Killian finally reached out, placing his hands on her cheeks, restraining her from looking away.

"Please do not worry yourself over such things," he said, his piercing green eyes gazing into hers. "All is well … I promise you."

Hermione said nothing. She simply looked into Killian's eyes. As always, his eyes did not lie. She had no idea what had happened that night in the dungeons, but she knew that whatever it was, it had passed. She trusted him. And as much as she yearned for answers, she would take him at his word.

"All right," she said at last, willing herself to believe her own words. "I feel terrible for poor William, though."

"Who's William?" Killian asked with a cocked head.

"The boy you just sent to Madame Pomfrey," Hermione answered as if it was the most ridiculous question she had ever heard.

"Really? William?" Killian asked on. "Guess I must have been thinking of someone else then."

"Or you're just stupid," Hermione teased.

"Also a possibility," Killian conceded. "Not to worry though, he'll be fine."

"Did you see the look in his eyes?" Hermione asked sympathetically. "He was frightened out of his wits. He had no idea what was happening."

"No, I don't suppose he did," Killian agreed. "But I'm quite certain he's learned his lesson."

"Yes," Hermione said, her tone rich with sarcasm. "Never trust a Gryffindor and never apologize. Very nice."

"They are worthwhile lessons," Killian teased.

Hermione gave Killian a shove and shook her head, feigning disappointment in his reaction to William's predicament.

"Oh, bloody hell," Killian groaned as he rolled his head toward the sky. "Would it make you feel better if I went to Madame Pomfrey and assured that everything is reasonably well enough?"

"It would, actually," Hermione assured with a nod, knowing how much Killian detested the notion.

"You know I'm only doing this for you, right?" he asked with another groan and glance toward the stars.

Hermione smiled, turning her nose in the air. "All the better then."

"Give me a moment to get inside before you follow," Killian said as he reluctantly turned and headed back toward Hogwarts.

Hermione knew the ritual. It was always the same. Sneaking about, hoping that no one noticed them sharing company. It was a bit of work to say the least, but still, it was worth it. Regardless of the fact that Killian was no longer the unknown Slytherin whom no one paid any attention, the simple fact that he was a Slytherin and she was a Gryffindor … The Houses would never accept that.

As Hermione stood in the field, watching as Killian entered the courtyard and made his way to the large wooden doors of the castle, she saw him pause and turn to his right. A moment later, Professor Umbridge appeared from behind a courtyard pillar. She was obviously patrolling the grounds, one of her favorite nocturnal activities.

Killian did not appear to be concerned as Professor Umbridge approached and engaged him in conversation. Hermione could not hear a word of it from where she stood, but assumed that it probably involved Killian being out of castle after hours.

The conversation carried on for several minutes, quite long for a simple scolding. Hermione was sure that Killian was being reprimanded, although his expression seemed rather casual for such an event. Then again, it was not beyond Killian to smile in that face of a verbal lashing. A moment later, Professor Umbridge placed her hand on the reluctant Slytherin's shoulder and escorted him into Hogwarts.

He would probably receive detention, Hermione assumed. Nothing too severe. Certainly nothing he could not handle. After all, he had handled far worse already.


	4. Chapter 4 - Sewing Seeds the Mind

_Ok, so I guess I should apologize. When I said it would not take that long to post the next chapter, what I actually meant was it was going to take exceptionally long. A lot of things happened. There was fire and brimstone and rabid dogs and a midget trapped under an abandoned refrigerator ... It has been quite a week. And sadly, it's not even what you would call an "action packed" chapter. But alas, it is finished and ready to post. I hope it was worth the wait for those who waited. For everyone else ... well, I hope you enjoy it too, I suppose._

 _But I digress ..._

 _\- Chapter Four -_

 _Sewing Seeds the Mind_

"Is this sewing of yours meant to be therapeutic?" Killian asked as he perused through a copy of the Dailey Prophet while Hermione worked diligently on constructing various hats for the house-elves of Hogwarts.

"It's not sewing, it's knitting," Hermione corrected. "And yes, it's therapeutic. But there's also a purpose for it."

Hermione was certain Killian was aware of the difference between sewing and knitting. He merely wished to antagonize her. In truth, the reason she and Killian were off hiding in one of the numerous dark and rarely haunted corners of Hogwarts was because Ron had been antagonizing her in regards to her persistent efforts in helping release house-elves from bondage. Her knitted caps were her most recent endeavor, hoping that in placing them out for the house-elves to take, they could free themselves from servitude. It had been futile to date, and Ron's snide comments as she attempted to knit in the Gryffindor common room made it ever more disheartening. Thus, why she chose Killian's company in place of her housemates at the moment. Although teasing her just the same, Killian's remarks did not feel as cutting.

"Ah yes, knitting," Killian said with a grin as he adjusted his sleeves which were concealing his hands. "Tell me again about this plan of yours."

Again, Hermione was certain Killian was aware of her plan. They had spoken of it before. But she went along with it just the same. Why she was tolerant of Killian's baiting as well as why she was not annoyed by his habit of asking that she repeat herself was a mystery. There was no reasonable or logical explanation. It simply did not bother her. She almost welcomed it. No quite, but almost.

"As I've explained to you before," Hermione began, "all I have to do is place these articles of clothing about in the dormitory and common room. When one of the house-elves picks it up, they will be freed. Afterwards, they will have the ability to choose if they wish to stay in Hogwarts employ. It will no longer be a life forced upon them."

"And you are convinced this will work?" Killian asked on, flipping the page of his periodical and glancing through the various articles.

"Of course it will," Hermione said, albeit not with as much confidence as she would have liked. "Eventually, that is," she clarified. "A social change of this magnitude is always met with reluctance at the start. Individuals become complacent with their placement in the communal order and fear any deviation from what they have grown accustomed to tolerating. But that doesn't mean they do not wish for a better life. They just need a push, that one individual to step forward and show the rest of them there is nothing to fear."

"That's all well and good," Killian said with a raised eyebrow. "However, I was referring to your idea of leaving clothing for the house-elves to collect. To free a house-elf from servitude, the clothing must be presented by their master. I'm not certain you qualify."

Hermione stopped knitting for a moment. Just long enough to roll her eyes and sigh. _He did it again …_ she thought before returning to her twists and knots, smiling and shaking her head. _Intolerable …_ "First of all," she explained, "the term 'master' is completely subjective."

"Actually, it's quite specific," Killian disagreed. "An individual whom possesses a claim of the servitude by others."

"It can also mean an individual whom has achieved the highest level of excellence in a particular skill," Hermione countered. She was attempting to be clever, but she knew, at best, this was a desperate stretch at countering Killian's remark.

"If that particular skill is possessing a claim of servitude," Killian said without care or hesitation, never taking his eyes off his copy of the Dailey Prophet, "then I wholeheartedly agree."

Crinkling her nose, Hermione contemplated for a moment. This was their game. One comment countered by another countered by another, each one besting the one previous. It was a version of intellectual chess played with words and ideas versus violent game pieces exploding upon each clash of opposing forces. It was intelligent, thought provoking, and oddly stimulating.

Several plausible arguments passed through her mind before she finally decided upon the angle she would pursue.

"If all that's necessary is a claim of servitude," she began, "then by your definition, I am a master."

Killian now lowered his periodical and glanced at Hermione, seeming genuinely intrigued with her potential hypothesis. "And how, exactly, do you justify that interpretation."

"One of the many tasks assigned to the house-elves of Hogwarts as to attend to the needs of the students," Hermione explained. "Ergo, they are in our service. Thus, we are their masters."

A silence fell between them. Hermione watched Killian's eyes narrow in contemplation. She knew it was coming. She had no notion as to what it would be, but it was coming. He was not yet beaten.

"I believe I've discovered why you so passionately pursue this little endeavor of yours," he finally said with a mischievous grin.

The word _little_ burned in Hermione's ears. She knew Killian had used it intentionally. He chose his words very carefully. If someone else had used this qualifier to describe Hermione's efforts, the outcome would most certainly have been different. If Ron, for instance, had referred to her attempts to improve the lives of house-elves as a _little endeavor_ , there would have been a vast amount of shouting followed by several days, if not weeks, of silence between them. With Killian, the little jabs and antagonizing behaviors had an entirely different effect on Hermione. She saw them as more of an invitation of continued engagement than any sort of invective dialogue. And she would, of course, gladly accept the invitation and return it in kind.

"And why is that?" Hermione asked.

"The guilt of the wealthy," Killian explained.

"I beg your pardon," Hermione said, completely lost as to the direction Killian had taken.

"I myself come from a fair amount of monetary comfort," Killian began. "Yet my family has but one house-elf in our service. To have the dozens of house-elves of whom you claim to be master, you must be wealthy beyond reason. Which explains a great many things. You see, often, around your age—"

"My age?" Hermione interjected.

"Yes, of course," Killian assured with a grin. "There is a vast amount of maturing that takes place in the year that separates us."

Hermione cocked her head with a smirk.

"As I was saying …" Killian continued. "Often around your age, the children of such legacies rebel against their elders, almost resenting their privilege at the expense of those less fortunate. Thus, they make it the mission in their young life to raise awareness of the disparities between those of their class and … well, everyone whom they hold under their boots. Do not worry though," he added with a coy grin. "This is merely a phase. In time, you will certainly outgrow it. Most likely when you realize how wonderful the luxuries of affluence can be."

Now ceasing her knitting entirely, Hermione stared at Killian and his arrogant grin. He appeared quite proud of himself. She attempted to look contemptuous, but found it difficult, falling back on a simple deadpan expression that mildly demonstrated some form of disappointment.

"Incidentally," Killian went on as he returned to his reading, "I had no inclination Muggle dentistry was so lucrative a field. Comfortable yes, but an entire company of servants? I am truly impressed."

Hermione turned away with her nose in the air. "You," she said simply, "are an ass."

Another broad smile crossed Killian's face.

"Does this mean I've won this round?"

"No," Hermione clarified with a laugh. "It means you're an ass."

Killian looked back towards Hermione. "Maybe so," he said, pulling his robe open to display a S.P.E.W. button affixed to the breast of his shirt. 'But I am also secretly a part of your underground movement," he added with a wink. "So I'm an ass with a worthy cause."

Hermione shook her head with another laugh. "It's not an underground movement," she said. "It's right out in the open. It's just been a bit difficult to garner a following."

"Really?" Killian said, closing his robe and feigning disappointment. "Suddenly, it's not as exciting."

As with before, his comments should have been insulting. Hermione should have been infuriated. Yet, she was not. Instead she was happy, she was comfortable. She knew Killian's words did not speak to his true beliefs or intentions. At least, she hoped they did not. They were meant to tease. It was the back and forth they shared, each attempting to get a rise out of the other. Nothing more than a game. And how she enjoyed their game.

Voices echoing down the corridor signaled the approach of fellow students. Hermione looked down the hall as Killian gathered his paper and made his way to a darkened doorway.

"So much for privacy," he said as he stepped into the shadows.

Hiding … The other common theme in their dynamic. Teasing and hiding. A part of her, perhaps the selfish side that dwells deep within any given person, enjoyed the secrecy. In that sense, the reclusive Slytherin belonged to her and her alone. On the other hand, with their denials and furtive practices, another part of her felt that without an acknowledgement, they did not actually exist. In many ways, the latter felt far more real than the former.

The students filed past, casting a glance towards Hermione and whispering about the silly Gryffindor and her pointless crusade. Hermione had gotten used to the endless chatter belittling her attempts to improve the lives of house-elves. Few shared in her beliefs. Killian was not excluded in this. While she was aware his negative remarks were made simply for the reactions they incited, she also knew he was among those who did not consider the matter particularly significant. Even Harry seemed to pay it little mind beyond placating her. It was a fight she would, more than likely, always be pursuing with few, if any, supporters.

When they were alone again, Killian reemerged and sat down, this time much closer to Hermione, and began to read once more, adjusting the sleeves of his robes to cover his hands. She had noticed this new practice of his several day previous, but did not think much of it. She still though little of it, but asked of it nonetheless.

"What's wrong with your hands?"

Killian seemed puzzled by the query.

"I'm not certain what you mean?"

"Why are you all wearing them in your sleeves all of the sudden?"

"Hogwarts has been chilly of late," Killian answered with a simple grin. "I also believe it to be quite fashionable. Or it will be when people begin to take notice."

"Of course," Hermione mockingly agreed as she placed a finished cap down and began on another. "So is there anything of interest going on in the world or are you merely being antisocial?"

Killian nudged Hermione with his shoulder. "Can it not be both?" he asked.

"If you would like to be alone …" Hermione pointed out as she began to teasingly peck at Killian's shoulder with one of her knitting needles.

"Nonsense," Killian said, feigning submission. "I was, in fact, reading up on Hogwarts' newly appointed High Inquisitor."

Hermione sighed with disgust, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "I've read of it."

"Educational Decree number twenty-three?" Killian went on as he read. "Have there really been that many? Seems it was not that long ago I was listening to you decry the existence of four or five."

"Professor Umbridge moves quickly," Hermione said with a huff.

"You do realize that Professor Umbridge is completely innocent in all of this," Killian pointed out. "These decrees are being issued by the Ministry, not their obedient lapdog," he punctuated with a bit of bite in his tone.

An icy stare was cast towards Killian as Hermione raised her sewing needle in threatening fashion.

"Do you really want to do this again?" she asked with narrowing eyes.

Killian laughed to himself, raising a hand and directing the needle away from his face. "I do not," he assured. "Particularly when you're armed."

Withdrawing her needle after swinging it around for a second time and pointing towards Killian for effect, Hermione returned to her knitting. For several minutes there was silence between the two, only broken by the occasion crinkle of a turning page and the consistent and rhythmic clicking of Hermione's needles.

Soon, thought after thought began to pass through Hermione's mind. Killian's remarks were really no different than his usual attempts at riling her up. Again, it was their game. Mental chess. In reality it was this dynamic that continually drew her to him. But for some reason, the mention of Professor Umbridge has hit a nerve and turned her stomach. She attempted to repress the feelings as best she could, but it was futile.

"Are you all right?" Killian asked, lowering his paper and glancing over with a look of suppressed concern.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the repetitive pattern in the twists and turns that transformed the plain ball of yarn into an ornate elven cap.

"You are not fine," Killian disagreed. "What you are is lying."

Hermione stopped and sighed with disgust. "It's maddening," she finally admitted.

"I agree," Killian said with a smile. "But I though you believed it to be soothing and therapeutic. Sewing seeds the mind and all."

"It's not sewing, it's knitting, you dolt," Hermione chastised with a laugh, tossing a needle at Killian. "And it's not that," she explained as Killian picked up the needle and handed it back to her. "It's Professor Umbridge."

"You're not still on about her, are you?"

"You don't understand … It's just … Just …"

"Maddening," Killian finished. "Yes, so you've said."

"It's more than that," Hermione argued. "It's not right. We're here to learn and to learn properly. There is nothing proper about her manner of education. I could learn more from an afternoon in the library than from what she offers in her classroom."

"To be fair," Killian argued playfully, "not all students have the fortitude to seek out information on their own. Perhaps her approach is more geared to Hogwarts' less than studious of students."

"I will hit you," Hermione said, again raising her needle in a mock threat.

Killian laughed and grasped Hermione's hand, forcing the needle down before she pulled away and returned to her knitting with a huff.

"It's not funny," she said.

"I know," Killian agreed with the most sincerity he had offered that evening. "But frustrating yourself is over this nonsense is not healthy. It's just going to put stress wrinkles on your forehead. And who wants those?"

"There has to be something to be done," Hermione pondered aloud, ignoring Killian's comment.

"Well, if what you're saying is true," Killian offered, turning back to his Dailey Prophet, "then why don't you teach the class?"

Hermione paused. "What did you say?"

"I mean, if you can get all the information you need from the library," Killian continued, "why bother with Professor Umbridge at all. Seems rather redundant, doesn't it?"

"That's brilliant!" Hermione exclaimed, gathering up her needles, yarn, and finished hats and stuffing them into her bag.

Killian looked toward Hermione with a curious look etched in his expression.

"What is?" he asked.

"Teach the class."

"What? … No, that was in jest."

"Why?" Hermione argued. "If Professor Umbridge won't teach the class properly, someone needs to."

"And you believe that someone is you?"

"Not me," Hermione corrected. "But I know someone who would be brilliant at it."

"Does this someone not mind being expelled?" Killian asked.

"We just won't get caught," Hermione explained. "Isn't that your philosophy?"

Before Killian could answer, more voices echoed from further down the corridor. Killian stood and returned to the shadows as another set of students passed by, unknowing of his presence. When they had traversed a good distance away, Killian joined Hermione as she stood and began to walk along towards the Gryffindor tower.

"See?" Hermione said with a smile. "Everything is fine so long as we don't get caught."

"You've lost your mind," Killian said, bumping Hermione in the shoulder as they walked along. "Even more so than when you decided to raise awareness of the mistreatment of house-elves."

"That was a brilliant idea as well," Hermione argued, bumping Killian's should in return.

"Yet to be seen," Killian countered. "Although I've been thinking. Perhaps it's not your campaign in and of itself, but rather the name of your campaign that has students reluctant to join. Who would want to join a revolution under the banner of SPEW."

"It's not SPEW," Hermione argued. "I wish people would stop calling it that. It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"Exactly," Killian pointed out with, placing his index finger on Hermione's forehead for effect. "SPEW ... You cannot blame people for pointing out the obvious flaw."

"Really?" Hermione asked with doubt. "And I suppose you have a better name in mind."

Killian reached into Hermione's bag and removed one of the delicately knitted caps.

"I don't know," he thought aloud. "Dressing Up Made Better?"

 _Dressing Up Made Better …_ Hermione echoed before suddenly realizing what Killian was suggesting.

"I hate you," she said, playfully slapping at Killian as they continued to walk along, disappearing into the darkness down the hall.


	5. Chapter 5 - Secrets and Illusions

_Soooo ... Yeah ... When I said there would not be long delays between chapters, what I actually meant was that there would apparently, at times, be long delays between chapters :/ ... In my defense, I do most of my writing during downtimes at work, and in the last few weeks, that downtime has been at an absolute minimum. However, this chapter is finally finished and edited (to the best of my ability. I am a writer, definitely not an editor.) I am hoping this delayed chapter will be the exception and not the rule._

 _But I digress ... Moving on. Of note, the beginning of this chapter contains dialogue taken directly from the works of JK Rowlings Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. As with her characters and settings, I do not own, I merely borrowed. I hope you enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Five -_

 _Secrets and Illusions_

"And talking about Michael and Ginny …" Hermione whispered to Harry while Ron muttered all sorts of indignities regarding his sister's newest love interest as they walked along the streets of Hogsmeade, "… what about Cho and you?"

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

Hermione could see her comment had caught Harry off guard. She could almost see the fluster in his eyes as he tried to hide his emotions. For some reason, it brought a slight smile to Hermione's face.

"Well, she just couldn't keep her eyes off you, could she?" she pointed out.

Harry looked down the street with a serene expression upon his face. It was almost as though he had suddenly learned to appreciate the world for the very first time.

Hermione might have taken a moment to enjoy Harry's suppressed merriment if not for a rather quiet confrontation taking place in the back alley between Gladrags and Zonkos. Neither Ron nor Harry paid it any attention, passing by without even a flinch. Of course, the two were quite lost in their own very different worlds for very different reasons at the moment. The calm aggression taking place a short distance away would not be enough to shake their concentration, or lack thereof.

"You two go on," Hermione said to Harry and Ron. "I just remembered I wanted to have a look at the Spice Bazar before we leave."

"Um, yeah … Ok," Harry bumbled, giving a half-hearted wave as he continued to walk along with a silly, yet distant, grin upon his face.

"You don't think I harp on things, do you?" Ron grunted to Harry, clearly still cross with his discovery that Ginny had hidden her relationship with Michael Corner from him.

"Sure, Ron," Harry answered in the nonchalant tone often used by one who has paid little attention to the question at hand.

"What do you mean, sure?" Ron asked, jabbing Harry in the arm.

"What? … I mean, no," Harry answered, snapping out of his giddy trance for a moment. "Of course not. You're just … I don't know … You get very big brotherly sometimes, is all."

"And what's wrong with that?" Ron asked on.

"Nothing," Harry assured as they continued down the street, oblivious to the fact that Hermione had slipped away. "It's brilliant. I would be the same way if I … you know … had any reason to be."

As the two disappeared into the crowd of students and townspeople, Hermione quietly approached the oddly serene altercation. Killian had not attended the gathering at the Hog's Head. Hermione held out little hope that he would. Too organized, too formal. But clearly he had gone to Hogsmeade as he was now surrounded by several first and second year Hufflepuffs who were looking on attentively as he twirled his wand and paced before Zacharias Smith. Zacharias, himself, wore an odd expression as he stood with his back against the side wall of Gladrags, eyeing Killian with his mouth agape. Not quite fearful. Not quite comfortable. Riddled with uncertainly.

This was quite a different setting than the standoff in the courtyard at the beginning of the term. There was an energy in the air, a tensity. But the cold malice, the frightening calm was absent. In its place was a cordial, almost inviting demeanor.

Deciding she did not wish to be seen just yet, Hermione stood in an alcove between the buildings just out of Killian's line of sight.

"Now," Killian went on, addressing the young students standing about. "What have we learned today about secrets?"

"Keep them," a young girl spoke up.

"Because …" Killian led.

"A secret is an offering of trust," another Hufflepuff chimed in.

"Correct," Killian said with a flick of his wand. "Vitally important. And what happens when one violates this trust?"

"Bad things," a third student answered.

"Yes," Killian agreed. "Because a violation of trust is an invitation for retaliation, am I right?"

The surrounding gaggle of students nodded in agreement, far more comfortable with what they were witnessing than Zacharias, who remained in pressed against the wall, his eyes following Killian's every move.

"For example, what just happened here is a …" Killian began, pausing for a response.

"Secret," several of the Hufflepuffs answered in relative unison.

"Exactly," Killian concurred, now pacing back and forth and glancing among the students. "And what will happen if we reveal this secret, thus betraying the trust we have only just established?"

"Bad things," came another unison response, this time more in sync than the previous answer.

"Very bad things," Killian punctuated. He then spun towards Zacharias, drawing his wand upon the retreating Hufflepuff and leaning in. "You would never betray anyone's trust, would you, Zacharias?" he whispered.

'No … I wasn't …" Zacharias answered, bumbling over his words, "… I wouldn't …"

Killian snapped his wand away and stood upright in one swift and deliberate motion, his arrogant grin firmly in place.

"Of course not," he said with a wink. "Class dismissed," he went on with a moderate bow to the other students standing around, still watching in silence. "I believe you have all earned a reward. Take them to Honeydukes." Killian tossed a small pouch of coins to Zacharias, who caught it clumsily.

How many Ghalleons the pouch contained, Hermione could not be certain. It certainly seemed heavy with coin. Zacharias stood dumbfounded for a moment, staring between Killian and the pouch of money of which he just been given possession. Slowly he began to make his way around Killian. As he did, however, the sudden student turned professor grabbed him firmly by the arm, pulling the rattled Hufflepuff close.

"Do we have an understanding?" he whispered.

"Y-Yes …" Zacharias bumbled, eager to be as far away from that alleyway as was physically possible.

"Good," Killian said with a suddenly cheerful, yet dismissive tone. "Off you go then. I believe your housemates are waiting on you."

With that, Zacharias took off out of the alleyway and down the road towards Honeydukes with several excited housemates eager to engage in the famous candy shop's sugary indulgences.

When the area had cleared, Hermione stepped out from the alcove and into the alley. Killian turned to her immediately, adjusting his sleeved and straightening his gloves.

"Where did you come from?" he asked, twirling his wand before placing it in his coat pocket.

"Don't patronize," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "I know you saw me."

"True," Killian admitted with a grin. "Your stealth leaves a bit to be desired."

Hermione crinkled her nose at the observation. Partly because she knew this was not entirely true. She, Harry, and Ron had been more than efficient in the areas of stealth a number of times during their years at Hogwarts. However, it was also partly because she knew her attempt at remaining concealed in this occasion was less than stellar. Perhaps it was because she was more interested in what was transpiring than placing herself out of view. Or perhaps it was the area itself. It certainly did not lend itself to shadows at that particular time of the day, the overhead sun illuminating the area quite thoroughly. Or perhaps still, some unconscious aspect in Hermione's person wished to be caught, wished to be seen watching Killian from afar. Although it would sound silly if spoken aloud, the latter of these explanations did not feel particularly fanciful.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked.

"Just a conversation among fellow students."

Hermione was doubtful as the simplicity of Killian explanation. "Just a conversation?" she asked on.

"Just a conversation," he assured once again.

"And you wand was drawn because …"

"Merely for theatre."

Narrowing her eyes and pursing her lip for a bit of theatre of her own, Hermione pondered whether this was one of those moments to pursue further or accept Killian's attempts to be difficult. Knowing time was of the essence, she chose the latter.

"Yes …" she finally said as she and Killian began down the alley, cautious to avoid the eyes of any students walking the busy streets of Hogsmeade only a stone's throw away, "… I saw you'd gathered an audience."

"The conversation transcended into a teaching opportunity," Killian explained. "I could not let such a fortuity pass. I would think you would appreciate such a thing."

"So you're teaching the art of secrecy?" Hermione asked.

"More the art of keeping secrets," Killian corrected.

"And, pray tell, what secrets were in question?"

"You tell me," Killian asked in return. "It was your furtive meeting at the Hog's Head, was it not?"

Hermione's heart stopped, her blood freezing in her veins as she grabbed Killian by the arm and spun him towards her.

"Zacharias was talking about the Hog's Head?" she asked while a sickening feeling of dread arose in the pit of her stomach. "What did he say? Who was he talking to? What—"

Killian placed a finger to Hermione's lips, silencing her midsentence.

"What he said," he began as Hermione slapped his finger away, "was that some tosser has a misguided idea he can teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Went on about not putting his neck on the line, going straight to Professor Umbridge, etcetera ad nauseum."

"He said he was going to Professor Umbridge?" Hermione gasped, exasperated at the thought. Their plan to form a united rebellion could very well fall apart before it had even started. How foolish had she been to allow so many students the knowledge of what they were planning? Why had she been so careless?

"Calm yourself," Killian said with that arrogant grin he wore so often. "The key point in that phrase is that Zacharias _was_ to do these things. You're little secret is safe."

Again that word … _Little_ … But Hermione had more pressing concerns than a playful taunt at the moment. Gathering herself enough to put together a cohesive thought, she pressed on.

"What do you mean he _was_ to these things?"

"I'm not certain there is better way to elucidate the context."

Hermione was not in the mood to play games. Not in in this instance, at any rate. And certainly not with this subject. Her life as an expelled former student of Hogwarts was flashing before her eyes.

"Can you please be serious for a moment?" she snapped, slapping Killian on the arm.

"It's quite simple," Killian explained, raising a hand in defense and laughing. "I overheard Zacharias speaking to some of his fellow Hufflepuffs as he walked along. It appeared he had lost his proverbial backbone and was pondering whether or not to go to Professor Umbridge with tales of some secret underground organization of students intent on learning the, now forbidden, practice of the Defense Against the Dark arts versus simply studying various rudimentary texts, as you say. I decided it best we should take a walk where we had a brief, albeit very illuminating, conversation. As you observed, he then changed his mind on the subject."

"Just like that?" Hermione asked, doubtful as to the validity of Killian's assertion.

"Just like that," Killian confirmed confidently.

Hermione recalled Zacharias' demeanor during their clandestine meeting at the Hog's Head only a few minutes prior. He was clearly not convinced with Harry's ability to teach fellow students, nor comfortable with being a part of an organization that was operating without the approval of the Hogwarts. Particularly one that would almost certainly be opposed by Professor Umbridge as well as the Ministry of Magic itself. Yet, even while witnessing Killian's 'lesson' in the alley, Hermione never dreamed the context of said lesson referred to what occurred at the Hog's Head. Regardless of his apprehensions, she would not have believed Zacharias would so readily forsake Harry and rest of those who attended.

"I'm to believe that one minute Zacharias is willing to go to Professor Umbridge," Hermione reasoned with severe doubt, "and the next he is suddenly loyal?"

"I hardly said he was loyal," Killian corrected. "If Hogwarts were ever under siege, I could all but guarantee Zacharias would be the first to flee the castle. But he will not loosen his tongue of your secrets. Allegiances are not that simple. There are a vast number of degrees amidst loyalty and betrayal.''

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I hope you're right," she said.

"As do I," Killian teased. "Expulsion, I imagine, would be an uncomfortable experience."

Taking a moment to breathe, Hermione felt her heart rate decrease. Everything in her being screamed at her to be troubled, to fear a turn by Zacharias, to anxiously watch over her shoulder for the immediate future in the very least. However, the look of calm confidence in Killian's expression put her at ease. There was no stress or strain in his presentation. No doubt. Hermione drew from that. If Killian had no concerns, then there was nothing of concern to be had. Why she had such faith in this, she could not fathom. But she did, and that was enough. At least for now.

Now feeling more at ease, Hermione continued to walk along the alleyway. Killian, however, remained in place. Hermione looked back and, upon seeing the look of apprehension on Killian's face, a sense of concern arose once again.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Killian glanced over Hermione's shoulder. She followed his line of sight and saw the bustle of students and passersbys flowing up and down Hogsmeade's High Street.

"It appears we have run out of road …" Killian's grin had lost its air, his eyes regretful. "A few more steps and a permanence of chaos awaits us."

A permanence of chaos. Who speaks in this manner? Both annoying pretentious and indescribably compelling. It was a mask Killian wore. Hermione was certain of this. It has to be. And while he wore it well, Hermione had begun to see the person behind the façade.

Strolling back towards Killian with her hands behind her back, Hermione kicked at stones as she stared at the ground in frustrated contemplation.

"I didn't think I was even going to see you in Hogsmeade today," she admitted. "And now it's just in passing. Almost makes it worse."

Killian reached out a gently straightened Hermione's knit cap. "Not entirely worse."

Hermione looked back to where the alley reached the street with fanciful hope. "There are a lot of people about," she offered. "Everyone is bustling about. Maybe no one would notice."

"And maybe I'll take up knitting," Killian said with a chuckle.

"You could," Hermione said with a smile and laugh of her own.

Killian appeared oddly uncomfortable given Hermione's presence. Perhaps he was as hesitant to leave as she was. Hermione wanted to believe that to be true. But it was also possible that his primary concern was to not be seen. It was a world of trouble that neither of them wanted or needed at the moment. Or any other moment for that matter.

"I best be off then," he finally said before turning and walking towards the opposite end of the alley, far from throngs of Hogsmeade's patrons.

"Wait!" Hermione called after him. Killian turned back with a quick wisp of expectation as Hermione hurried to him, once more looking into his eyes with repressed hope, biting her lip and shifting from one foot to the other. "There must be someplace we can go."

Killian looked to the sky in feigned contemplation, again, adjusting Hermione's cap. Even through his gloves, she could almost feel his warmth as her hand brushed by the side of her face. Not necessarily a physical warmth. It was much more encompassing than that. Indescribable, yet welcomed.

"I noticed a new business has opened near the outskirts of Hogsmeade … The Attics of Plutus, if I recall correctly," Killian pondered aloud. "A Muggle shop of some sort. Was quiet as a graveyard when I passed a bit earlier. Feel like educating an ignorant Slytherin on your culture? I've always found it fascinatingly odd?"

"I fairly sure Muggles would say the same of your culture," Hermione surmised.

"Our culture, don't you mean?" Killian corrected. "Muggle born, blossoms into greatness within the society of witchcraft and wizardry … You're developing quite the compelling biography."

Hermione was certain Killian was merely patronizing her once again. Not in any malicious way. As always, merely to tease. On the other hand, he had made similar comments before. Of course, he could have been teasing her then as well. This time, she decided to simply take it as the compliment it appeared to be and looked no further. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Hermione stood up on her toes, shrugged, and then looked to the ground to hide her smile. After which, the two of them walked together towards the new Muggle shop aside Madam Puddifoot's, careful to avoid any gazing eyes on their way.

. . .

Once inside, Hermione and Killian were greeted by Jarvis Rastrick, a kindly old man and owner of The Attics of Plutus. Immediately upon their entry, he enthusiastically began telling an array of stories ranging from his obsession with everything Muggle to his family lineage that he claimed could be traced back to Xavier Rastrick, the famous, yet flamboyant, wizard entertainer who vanished unexpectedly while tap dancing before a crowd of hundreds of onlookers in and around 1836 in Painswick, never to be seen or heard from again.

While Hermione was genuinely enthralled with the man's rhapsodic tales, tales that were, no doubt, filled with exaggerations and family lore, Killian appeared less interested in the conversation. Instead, he found it more amusing that an individual who claimed ancestry to a line of performers would now find himself the proprietor of such and out of place establishment as Muggle shop in Hogsmeade.

When Mr. Rastrick's tales reached their terminus, including a history lesson in how the shop's name derived from the ancient Greek god of wealth paired with an old Muggle adage that one man's trash is another man's treasure, with said treasures often being stored in dusty cluttered attics, he excused himself and returned to organizing the various shelves and cases about his establishment. And although Hermione found value in near every piece on display, Killian's thoughts leaned more towards the rubbish aspect of Mr. Rastrick's apothegm.

"Are you not going to remove your gloves?" Hermione asked Killian as she glanced at a few _Modern Muggle Wonders_ , or so the display card read.

"Seems rather pointless," Killian answered. "We will be back in the cold soon enough …" he ran his fingers along the counter and inspected the tips "…and I'm not certain as to how sanitary this environment is," he whispered with a grin.

Hermione shook her head and continued to walk along with Killian at her side, occasionally pointing out something of interest or answering an odd question or two.

"So I am to understand," Killian began, tossing a cracked and well-worn golf ball from hand to hand, "that the object of the game is to take this tiny little ball, hit it with a club as far as you can, chase it down, locate it in the grass, only to repeat the process again?"

"There's a bit more to it than that," Hermione explained. "But yes, that's the general idea."

"And that is considered a sport?" Killian asked on.

"Some will tell you," Hermione answered. "Personally, I find the whole idea of it silly. But my father is an avid player. It's sort of a common distraction for people in his field."

"Right," Killian said, placing the ball back into the display case. "Dentistry, wasn't it? And what is this?" he went on, joining Hermione's side as she looked upon a cylinder with vertical slits up the sides and a crank along the base.

Hermione grasped the object and held it up for Killian to see.

"It's a zoetrope," she explained. "Look …"

Killian looked through the vertical slits as Hermione slowly turned the crank. The cylinder began to spin and through the openings they were able to see a goat jumping toward a tree and eating its leaves.

"Interesting illusion," Killian remarked.

"Illusions are what we call magic where I come from," Hermione explained.

"How fortunate you now reside in a world where _magic_ is what we call magic," Killian teased.

"I don't know," Hermione argued. "Sometimes I miss some of the wonderment in seeing things that should not be possible. You know he isn't really pulling a rabbit out a hat, the woman behind the curtain isn't really disappearing, but you want to believe they are."

"And now you know it can be real," Killian pointed out, pulling a flower from the air and presenting it to Hermione. "It no longer has to be an illusion."

A warmth arose in Hermione's cheeks as she took the flower and put it to her nose, taking in its emanating fragrance. Just then, the door opened and several students poured into the shop, being greeted by Mr. Rastrick and regaled with the same stories he had shared with Hermione and Killian as they entered The Attics of Plutus.

Killian took Hermione by the hand and the two ducked behind a row of Muggle books and board games. Making their way to the rear of the store, they quietly escaped through a back door as Mr. Rastrick recited the Muggle adage of trash and treasure to his new prospective consumers.

Once outside, and again safely hidden from the prying eyes of fellow classmates, Hermione leaned up against the alley-side wall of a former storefront that now lay boarded up and abandoned. As they stood there, enjoying the cool breeze and waiting for the inevitable moment when they would go their separate ways so as not to be seen retuning to Hogwarts in each other's company, Hermione was hit with a sudden bout of melancholy. Killian leaned aside her as she looked up at him with a hint of uncertainty etched in her expression.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I'm sure you can ask me a great many things," Killian teased.

Hermione leaned her head on Killian's shoulder. The teasing that normally filled her with a sense of aggravated passion or comforting warmth, had more of despairing effect at the moment.

"Is this just an illusion?" she asked.

Killian paused. It looked as if he was uncertain as to whether to offer some form of sarcasm and whit or to join Hermione in her moment of despondence. She felt so comfortable, so at peace when she was with him. But at the same time their relationship was so different than any she had in the past or present. With anyone else, she knew where she stood. Harry, Ron, any number of random acquaintances, even those with whom she did not fare so well … The relationship was known and well defined. With Killian … She did not have that same sense of affirmation. She knew neither what they were nor what she even wanted. They just existed. Nothing more, nothing less. And neither seemed willing to look beyond that.

Perhaps it was because she knew that at any moment, any slip in their secrecy, whatever they had or did not have would vanish like smoke in the breeze. Or perhaps, as she had thought numerous times before, it was because she feared that if she accepted any part of it, that action, in and of itself, would set in motion the very destruction she wished to avoid.

While not one to ever believe she knew beyond doubt the mindset that anyone carried with them, Hermione believed that Killian had the same fears and reservations. He hid it well. Far better than Hermione. Still, she could see he had the same antipathy for their reticence, but understood their reservations behind any acknowledgement of their being. It was not fair, but it was what they had. Or what Hermione wanted to believe they had.

The passing seconds felt like hours as Hermione waited for any reaction from Killian. Closing her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder, she almost hoped her would not answer at all. A question left unanswered was better than an undesired answer given, was it not?

"I don't know about any rabbits in a hat," Killian finally said, now resting his head upon hers and interlacing their fingers as best he could through their gloves, "but you are far more than any vanishing woman behind a curtain."

Hermione slid closer to Killian, wishing to feel the pressure of his body against hers. Beyond his arrogance and satire, he had found the perfect answer. It was exactly what Hermione wanted to hear, what she needed to hear. Soon all of the students would be heading back to Hogwarts to return to their daily routines of study and recess. Soon Hermione would be sitting by the fire in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron as they continue their plans to undermine Professor Umbridge's attempts to fetter their education in the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Soon she and Killian would be spending their days and nights passing letters and stealing glances across the halls. But soon had not yet arrived. Soon could wait. All that mattered was now.


	6. Chapter 6 - Snow Storms and Lesson Plans

_Alas, a new chapter. Not as much a delay as the last, but still not as quick as I would like. I have discovered I have a bit of an editing issue. By that, of course, what I mean is that I am awful at editing. I had an editor once upon a time. Sadly, I made the mistake to allowing her to be one of the many people I let go over the years in an attempt to preserve a familiarity that simply was not healthy. She was correct at the time, and she is correct now. Those wrongs have since been righted, but in the time that it took, I lost more than an editor, I lost a wonderful person. I have had a few others help me edit since then, but none compared as either an editor or individual. So for you, little Canary, I shed a tear._

 _But I digress ... Another chapter awaits ... Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Six -_

 _Snow Storms and Lesson Plans_

It was a cold snowy Sunday morning after Hagrid's surprise return to Hogwarts. Hermione's old friend looked far worse for wear than the last time she had seen her gentle giant of a professor and groundskeeper. He, of course, laughed off his bruises and abrasions in a manner that would characterize anyone else as mad, but defined Hagrid more perfectly than any words Hermione could put to paper.

Informing Hermione, Ron, and Harry on the details his absence, his visit with the giants, and his unfortunate failure to gather their immediate support, it appeared very evident something was being left out. Before they could discovery what it was Hagrid was not telling them, however, their visit was interrupted by an unscheduled and unwelcomed visit from Professor Umbridge.

The oppressive professor made no effort to hide her repugnance of Hogwarts' burly instructor, immediately exhibiting her authority and rendering her passively aggressive threats. And while Hagrid remained as pleasantly optimistic and lovingly unknowing of the true danger he was facing in regards to his continued employment at the school, Hermione was not ignorant of this truth. Neither were Harry or Ron, who both offered to accompany her on her trudge through the knee deep snow this Sunday morning on her way to Hagrid's hut. But Hermione refused their offers, reminding them of the tremendous amount of homework they had let compound. Although less than cheery, the two acknowledged this encumbrance and remained behind.

Passing through the hordes of students skating, sculpting various creatures in the snow, and bewitching snowballs to inflict impressive assaults on opposing makeshift forts, Hermione snaked her way down to Hagrid's humble hut, intend on ensuring he does not get sacked due to his less than traditional lesson plans.

Climbing onto the stoop in front the large weathered wooden door, Hermione rapped soundly. After a few moments of no answer, she looked up and saw that there was a fire burning inside, indicated by the thick smoke emanating from the chimney. Several more rasps with no answer left Hermione puzzled. She thought it possible Hagrid had stepped out. After all, he had been away for quite some time. No doubt there many things of which needed tending around the grounds. Still, early on a Sunday morning, and with his hearth fire burning? Odd.

Confident Hagrid would appear around the corner at any moment, Hermione waited patiently, every so often pacing back and forth from the garden to the front door. Time passed slowly as it often does when one is waiting. More so when one is waiting in the cold.

On a trip back to the front door from a pace to the garden fence, Hermione saw a familiar figure walking along the path at the base of the hill towards her, glancing occasionally at the chaos taking place on the snowy landscape around them. An instinctive smile washed over her face before a sudden secondary emotion of anxiety and fear.

"What are you doing?" she called out in a hushed terse whisper.

"I'm walking," Killian answered simply. "I would have thought that rather obvious."

"There are people everywhere," Hermione argued, pulling Killian to the side of the hut, hiding from view as best as possible.

"Look around," Killian said, extending his arms and gesturing to the surrounding area. "Absolutely no one is paying attention. You've been standing here for over twenty minutes. I've not seen a single person cast you so much as a casual glance. They have much better things to do at the moment. Of course, it you make a scene, I imagine that might turns some heads," he added with a smirk.

"That's not the point," Hermione began. "What if some—Wait … You were watching me stand out here in the freezing cold for over twenty minutes?"

"I didn't actually check my timepiece," Killian answered. "But I would say yes, give or take. I had to ensure it was safe."

"I'm still not convinced it is," Hermione argued, hating that she was essentially asking, against all desire, for Killian to leave.

"No one is going to see us," Killian assured confidently.

"That you, 'Ermione?" came a familiar bellowing voice.

"Except Hagrid apparently," Killian added, his expression of confident certainty melting away in an instant.

Hermione spun around to see Hagrid standing just at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, blanketed in snowfall, still covered in the welts and bruises she had seen the previous day. Although now seeing them in the light, some appeared fresher than others.

"How did he just sneak up on us?" Hermione whispered quietly.

"How does that man sneak up on anyone?" Killian asked in return, equally dumbfounded.

"Ain't 'dis just a surprise, then," Hagrid went on, walking towards the two students who were fervently attempting to come up with a believable story to explain their presence together. "What'd bring yeh down 'ere on a day like we got going? Brought a friend with yeh, I see." Hagrid eyed Killian, suddenly quickening his pace and stomping over after clearly seeing the Slytherin colors Killian was adorning. "Now 'ang on," he growled, looking to Hermione. "This one givin' yeh trouble?"

"No, Hagrid," Hermione assured. "It's all right."

"Yeah?" Hagrid asked, seeming doubtful. "All right, if yeh say so. Well then, what'er yeh two doin' 'ere?"

"I …" Killian started, then hesitated, "… I'm not entirely certain at the moment."

Hermione was almost amused with Killian's reaction to being in presence of her imposing and overly protective friend. Seeing him at such a loss for words was a rarity to say the least. Seeing him not only stumbling over his words, but visually shaken, however, was an absolute gem.

"I borrowed a book," Hermione explained. "He was merely checking to see if I had finished."

"A book?" Hagrid asked with as much doubt as previous.

"Yes …" Killian still seemed a bit hesitant, but fell into line. "A favorite of mine, in fact."

"And which one is that?" Hagrid asked.

" _Men Who Love Dragons Too Much_ ," Hermione went on flawlessly, then turned to Killian. "Sadly, I don't have it with me. But I'll return it as soon as I return to my common room.

"Shame," Hagrid said, now smiling broadly, having both accepted Hermione's explanation and finding a sudden bond with Killian. "That's a good book there. Dragon lover, are yeh?"

"Absolutely," Killian answered, although it was difficult to tell whether or not this was a truth or merely Killian displaying his very Slytherin skill of believable lies. "Quite fascinating creatures. None other like them."

"Right on that," Hagrid agreed. "Did yeh know I 'ad one once?"

"I did not," Killian replied.

"Norwegian Ridgeback," Hagrid said proudly. "Hatched it from a wee egg. Was only this big," he went on, indicating a small size between his hands. "Remember little Norbert?" he asked of Hermione.

"Yes," Hermione answered, remembering quite well the night Norbert hatched from his egg, as well as the moment Ron was sent to the hospital wing with a venomous dragon bite not long after. "He was very lovely."

"How did you come across owning a dragon egg?" Killian asked, now seemingly genuine interested. "The rarity and expense alone make them an impressive commodity."

"Well," Hagrid began. "Long story to that. But no matter, couldn't keep 'im. He's in a better place now. A very happy dragon, he is."

"I'm certain he is," Killian said, retreating a step and starting back towards the path leading back up the hill towards Hogwarts. "Alas, it appears you two have business to attend."

"Nonsense," Hagrid dismissed. "Pair of you got a chill, no doubt. Inside with yeh, Fire's warm. Fix that up right well."

With that, Hagrid waved Killian on as he stepped past Hermione and entered his hut. Hermione glared at Killian as he rather sheepishly approached the door alongside her with a simple shrug. The gesture drew a swift elbow to the ribs from Hermione as the two entered and made themselves as comfortable as possible in the significantly oversized chairs for their average sized bodies. Taking off his snow covered coat, Hagrid stoked the fire for a moment before sitting in an even larger chair hung with various animal skins.

"Sorry fer being a bit gruff out there," he said to Killian with a grunt as he got comfortable in his seating. "Just saw them Slytherin colors and all. What with 'Ermione being a Gryffindor, figured there might be a bit of trouble."

"Not at all," Killian said. "Understandable. Hostilities between the Houses being as they are."

"Meant no 'arm by it," Hagrid explained apologetically. "Been round a long time, is all. Seen a bit much not to notice when things look a bit off, if you know my meaning."

"Unfortunately, yes," Killian agreed.

The idea that a customarily recognized convention regarding the relationship between the Houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin even existed was something of a sore spot with Hermione. What bothered her more was how readily both Killian and Hagrid accepted this abominable generalization. However, her primary disconcertment was the fact that she not only shared in this negative bias and belief, it was these very perspectives that had defined the manner in which she and Killian carried on. She wished it were not so. She wished she was above such general perceptions. Be that as it may, deep down she realized it matter not what she did or did not believe, it was individuals in the surrounding world who held them to this standard. It was a standard worth fighting against, but not a battle in which she wished to engage at the moment. Whatever it was that Hermione and Killian shared, it was not something she wished to risk losing. Not yet.

Hagrid glanced between Hermione and Killian for a moment or two, his usual broad and contagious smile beaming across his face.

"Would yeh look at what we got 'ere?" he finally said, slapping his knee and gesturing to the two students who looked back at him in silence. "A Slytherin and a Gryffindor right 'ere, in my home. And not fer detention. If someone had told me I'd see the day … Well, I'd of called 'em a liar." He leaned in towards Killian. "You though," he went on, waving a finger as if pulling a thought from his head. "Seen yer face, always quiet, keepin' to 'yerself and all … Can't right remember yer name."

"Killian Finn," Hermione spoke up before Killian could offer a response, an action she immediately regretted as she was met with curious stares from both Hagrid and Killian.

"As she said," Killian said after an awkward pause that Hermione was certain Killian engaged in purposefully before redirecting towards Hagrid. "And it's all right, professor. I have not actually had the pleasure of taking your class … as of yet," he quickly added.

"You're a Finn, aye? …" Hagrid mused, sitting back and pulling at his beard. "Can see the resemblance now. I remember yer sister right well. Bright a witch as I ever saw. Like you 'Emione. Top of her class," he went on with a nod towards Hermione. "Remember your father too. Proper as the day is long, that one. Mother just the same. Ravenclaws, the whole clan of 'em if I'm right."

"Yes," Killian said with same manner of suppressed regret Hermione recalled when he spoke of his family's House lineage on the night they first met. "We're from a long line of Ravenclaws. I fell a bit from the tree in that regard."

"No shame in carving yer own path," Hagrid assured with a laugh. "Been makin' a name on yer own, so I hear," he added. "Heard yer name on my way to see Professor Dumbledore just last night. _That Slytherin … Killian, isn't it?_ they said. Got their eyes on yeh, sounds like."

"Who?" Hermione asked with a sudden burst of curt emotion. Again she had reacted instinctively and was met with the stares normally meant for someone who had inserted themselves into another's conversation. In truth, she almost felt like she had done so. Where had that come from? And why did she suddenly feel completely bare, as if all eyes in existence had suddenly focused on her?

"Can't say," Hagrid admitted as if he had somehow said something wrong. "Just caught my ear as I walked past."

Killian stood and adjusted his robes, now appearing almost as uncomfortable as Hermione.

"As much as I do appreciate your hospitality," he said, "I really must head back. I have a great number of things to attend to and have taken enough of you time. Incidentally," he went on, gesturing to the bruises about Hagrid's face, "were you visiting an old friend while on leave?"

"Old friend?" Hagrid asked, perplexed by the question.

"Looks like you might have been tussling with Norbert," Killian teased.

Hagrid laughed and slapped Killian on the shoulder, not even noticing that he unintentionally slammed Killian into the small side table alongside his chair in the process.

"That'd been grand, wouldn't it?" he asked in merriment. "Me and Norbert lockin' claws again? Nothin' so excitin' as that. But a good story just the same. Truth is, I just came back from—"

"Hagrid," Hermione interrupted. "Have you put any thought into your lesson plans now that you're back?"

"Lesson plans?" Hagrid asked, seemingly thrown off by the sudden and complete change in subject.

It was the third time Hermione had spoken up either instinctually or emotionally, she had yet to determine which. If it was instinct, it was bordering on overprotective and distrusting. If it was emotion, it was a confusing and polarizing tempest she had never experienced. Either way, Hermione was growing tired of the awkward silences and suspicious eyes she felt she received every time she said a word.

"I just imagined that with you having been away, you may not have had the opportunity to plan properly," Hermione explained. "I thought perhaps I could help you get organized."

"Nice thought and all," Hagrid said dismissively. "But I got plans enough to get started."

"I'm certain you do," Hermione agreed cautiously. "Just the same, I've brought along a list of ideas I thought could help. Safe ideas," she punctuated.

Hagrid's face twisted, his nose crinkled, and his eyes rolled. "Safe?" he dismissed. "What yeh mean by that?"

It seemed as though nothing that Hermione said in the last several minutes had come across as she intended. If not for her fear of losing Hagrid due to the near militant power the Ministry had given Professor Umbridge in recent months, Hermione would have almost certainly given up and left at this moment. Given the gravity of what was at stake, however, escape was not an option.

"What I'm mean is things are different now," Hermione explained. "You have to be careful with how you handle your class. And while Professor Grubbly-Plank's lesson plans are not exactly exciting, they are—"

"Boring is what they are," Hagrid bellowed. "Silenced fwoopers, jarveys, knarls … You tell me who in their right mind would rather study knarls than chimaeras? No one, that's who."

"You have chimaeras?" Killian asked, now sounding as though he was the one intruding on a conversation.

Hermione was becoming thoroughly frustrated with Hagrid's dismissive reactions. She knew how dangerously close Hagrid was to being sacked. She knew how close he was before he had even returned to the school. He embodied everything the Ministry was looking to eradicate from within the establishment of Hogwarts, particularly his unwavering loyalty to Dumbledore. The passive half-giant simply did not see the danger. Of course, what more or less could be expected from a man who once named a large vicious three-headed dog Fluffy?

"Wouldn't that be somethin' if I did?" Hagrid mused. "Can't get my hand on them eggs. Rare as they come, and more than a handful of coins."

"No doubt," Killian agreed. "But you did manage to find yourself a dragon egg. That is as much a rarity as any other. So there's still hope," he punctuated before heading towards the door. "As for my book. …" he went on, glancing to Hermione, "… I imagine I will see you in passing at some time or another. Maybe then …" He did not finish his thought, instead simply trailing off and backing towards the door.

"Yes," Hermione said, trying to address the comment in the least conspicuous manner possible. "I'll be sure to return it you."

Killian offered a moderate bow, part proper, part theatrics. No matter the reason, Hermione smiled. It was a simple gesture, a simple joy. And not something that could be interpreted too deeply by anyone watching. Just an amicable farewell.

The door opened and closed, marking Killian's departure with a blast of cold air and flurry of snowflakes. Before the flakes has even settled, Hagrid leaned over toward Hermione, suddenly serious.

"Mind yerself with that one," he warned.

"What?" Hermione asked, puzzled by Hagrid's sudden concern.

"Not sayin' he isn't a good fellow," Hagrid explained. "Seems decent and all. But I wasn't lyin' when I said I heard things 'bout 'im. Not all 'em good either. Dumbledore told me 'bout some trouble they'd been having with the Slytherins this year. Like most years, I thought. They don't exactly mingle well with the other houses, as yeh know. No, he says. This year it was in the house itself. Some tussle between the students. Real violent like, as I hear. And that boy's name was right in the middle of it all."

Hermione had a sudden flashback to earlier in the year when, like Hagrid's now, Killian's face was covered in welts and bruises. The same sickening feeling she felt after finding Killian alone with his father's Howler near the atrium washed over her once again. All she had to do was let it go, walk away from Daphne Greengrass and Adrian Pucey. Instead, she acted rash and out of character. And Killian paid a price for it. In truth, several people paid a price, some heavier than others.

"Yes, I've heard the rumors," Hermione said in a fairly convincing dismissive manner. "Not that I pay them any mind. I'm certain they've been exaggerated."

"Don't know 'bout that," Hagrid disagreed. "Hard to exaggerate puttin' a student through a stone wall. Although as I heard it, he was defending himself. Right well he did, too, if yeh ask me." Hagrid paused abruptly and glanced to the ceiling. "Don't think I was supposed to tell yeh that."

That was almost a certainty. Hagrid's absence when the event took place in the Slytherin House would likely have avoided him any Unbreakable Oath, if the professors were even sworn to one. However, it seemed unlikely Dumbledore would have wanted Hagrid to be sharing what occurred in the bowels of Hogwarts' dungeons on that cool autumn evening with anyone, let alone students.

"No matter though," Hagrid went on. "Yeh know now. Defendin' or not, when a person puts another through a wall, that's a person yeh mind. Don't want to see yeh caught in something is all."

"Thank you Hagrid," Hermione said with a forced smile. "But Killian is barely an acquaintance. I just borrowed a book."

"Good," Hagrid said, sitting back with a smile. "Don't have to be worryin' 'bout yeh then. No more than usual, that is."

After that, Hermione returned to her attempts at helping Hagrid put together a safe lesson plan that would not allow Professor Umbridge an opportunity to come after him for any perceived violations, Educational Decrees or otherwise. Hagrid, however, was as stubborn and dismissive of the potential threat as usual. In truth, outside of his consistent insistence that Professor Grubbly-Plank's idea of education would bore the head leaves off a bowtruckle, Hagrid seem completely disinterested in the conversation. He was not being rude, as such. He simply appeared distracted, looking out the window towards the Forbidden Forest every so often with a smile that seemed almost dreamy and whimsical. The bruises and blood about his face made the imagery seem all the more out of place.

Mentally exhausted and thoroughly frustrated, Hermione finally gave up and left Hagrid so he could rest up and heal. One way or another, there would be school the next morning and Hagrid had a long week ahead of him.

As she slowly trudged back up the hill and over the covered bridge leading into Hogwarts, Hermione's mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions. She thought of her earlier moments with Killian and Hagrid. Speaking up when Hagrid asked Killian his name, as if Killian was hers to introduce. Again speaking up when Hagrid mentioned he had overheard students speaking fondly of Killian. Why had that bothered her so much? The comment immediately brought forth an image of a group of Ravenclaw girls giggling and whispering together. Hagrid had not even mentioned a gender, yet Hermione's subconscious assigned one just the same.

Then there was the moment she spoke up to interject when she feared Hagrid was going to mention how he met with the giants on behalf of Professor Dumbledore. She, Harry, and Ron knew where Hagrid was and what he was attempting. Hagrid had shared this information readily. He trusted them with it. Yet she stepped in and obstructed the very same exchange when it appeared it may be shared with Killian.

Possessiveness? Jealousy? Hermione often mused how Killian was her secret and hers alone. But this was in jest, was it not? Did she truly feel this way? Did he see her in the same way? Were these same ponderances bouncing about in Killian's consciousness, as well?

And what of her misgivings? Time and time again Hermione had convinced herself she trusted Killian. Why the sudden fear? Was is just instinct? Or was it that she wished to keep Killian out of her own inner circle with Harry and Ron? After all, her relationship with Killian was far different that those with her favorite pair of fellow Gryffindors. At least she believed it to be. If nothing else, they were certainly two separate world she wished to keep divided.

There were so many questions, so many emotions. They were things Hermione had not thought about. Or, more likely, had no desire to address. Her relation with Killian was complicated, but the rules were simple. And as long as they followed these simple rules, life went on and nothing changed. Did that even make sense? Was such an existence even truly possible? And why does each passing day seem to compound this confusion exponentially?

Lost in this firestorm of emotions was another moment in Hagrid's hut. It was a moment returned Hermione to memories of the night she and Killian were casting stones into the Black Lake, talking about the very incident that caused Hagrid to take note when he realized with whom Hermione was sharing company aside his abode.

On that night, Killian expressed his regret about having gone from unknown and left to his own to being the focus of his classmates' curiosities and fears. And while Hermione had assured him at the time that his views were askew, even as these words of optimism escaped her lips, she had her reservations. Hagrid's concern for her decisively validated the reality she had attempted to dismiss. There was a curiosity, there was a fear. And these ominous particulars played on each other in succession. The curiosity fed the fear which, in turn, fed the growing attraction to something unknown and potentially dangerous.

To Hermione it was nothing more than silly nonsense. Although she now knew these suspicions within the school to be real, she still did not see it. Hermione had her curiosities, just like everyone else. However, hers not based on any anxieties or concerns. And unlike those who whisper and ogle from a distance, Hermione had no reservations in regards to approaching the reclusive Slytherin who had suddenly caught the eyes of the student body after an altercation in the Slytherin House, the details of which were spoken only in hushed whispers by those who were not there to witness the event.

No, Hermione did not see it. To her, _that Slytherin_ was just Killian, just a boy. Well, maybe not just a boy. But he was Killian … Her Killian. And they were all wrong about him. If they only knew.

Tossing all of the doubt and nonsense aside, Hermione decided she would focus on something else. Something more important. Something that brought a warm smile to her face. Apparently, she now had to book that needed returning. Perhaps this evening after dinner. Perhaps sooner.


	7. Chapter 7 - A Simple Distraction

_Not quite so long between posts this time. So ... You know ... Booyah or something. Not much else to say. I am very tired and would like to go to sleep now. It has been a very long night ... or morning, as it appears to be now. Nightmorning? Norning? Whatever ... Goodnight._

 _Oh yeah, and enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Seven -_

 _A Simple Distraction_

Hermione was supposed to be skiing with her family over the holiday break. Skiing, however, was not a particular joy of hers. Instead, she decided to spend Christmas with Harry, Ron, and the others at Grimmauld Place. Especially after Dumbledore informed her of what had happened to Mr. Weasley. She needed to be with Harry and Ron. However, there was still time for one other endeavor if she managed her time properly

Having to wait for the official end of the term, Hermione was only now arriving in the area. As it was, Professor Umbridge was seething that Harry and Ron had left without her knowledge. While Hogwarts' passively contentious instructor was aware of the attack on Mr. Weasley, as well as Professor Dumbledore giving both Harry and Ron permission to visit at St Mungo's, the mere idea that students had left before the official start of Christmas holiday was certainly a violation of some potential Educational Decree she had brewing around in the confines of her vindictive mind.

So after her last class ended, Hermione packed a few necessities and summoned the Knight Bus. Before she left Hogwarts, however, she managed to convince Killian to meet her at the frozen pond they now occupied. No one expected her at Grimmauld Place, so she still had a few hours to do as she pleased with no watching eyes.

In the previous week since she and Killian were caught by Hagrid outside his home, she had not found a single moment to 'return borrowed book' to Killian. Instead, they had resorted to their standard letter writing. As much as she enjoyed the practice, she longed for a more personal interaction beyond a stained piece of parchment delivered in secret for fear of being revealed.

In fact, even this manner of communication had nearly been compromised. While being regaled with Harry's rather awkward telling of his even more awkward moment with Cho Chang in the Room of Requirement after their last meeting of D.A. before the term ended, Ron had inquired about a particularly long missive Hermione had been scribing in clear view of everyone.

Admittedly, she had gotten a bit careless in regards to her letters to Killian. While she kept them safely hidden upon receipt, she often now wrote in the presence of both Harry and Ron in the evenings as they sat together in the Gryffindor Common Room. It was not exactly out in the open, but it was not entirely hidden either. She was always busy writing one thing or another, so she thought it less conspicuous to simply scrawl away in their company than to constantly be disappearing each time she desired to put quill to parchment.

This particular time, for whatever reason, Ron paid it notice. When asked, Hermione tilted the parchment from view and convincingly passed it off as a letter to Victor Krum. His was the first name that came to mind as a plausible recipient. After all, they had attended the Yule Ball together the previous year. And he had, in fact, asked that she write to him, something of which both Ron and Harry were well aware.

Still … Another lie, another denial.

"Tell me again," Killian asked, clumsily lacing his skate as he sat on a bench beside a frozen pond several blocks from Grimmauld Place. "Why, exactly, are we partaking in this?"

Hermione smiled, already laced and waiting for Killian. "Because it's fun."

"Fun?" Killian asked with a raised eyebrow, finishing one skate and now working on the other. "Muggle culture is truly odd."

"I thought you found Muggle culture to be fascinating?" Hermione teased as she stood on the ice in front of Killian. "You're not scared, are you?"

"I believe I said I found it to be fascinatingly odd," Killian corrected. "And no, I am not scared. I'm merely questioning the logic involved. Ice, in and of itself, provides little traction. So why, in all sanity, would one affix something to oneself in order to further waver their footing?"

Hermione smiled again as Killian finished preparing and stood rather unstably. "You analyze too much."

"No," Killian disagreed, cautiously straightening up. "I analyze exactly the correct amount."

"We could always skip this and discuss my current undertakings in the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare," Hermione offered with a grin. "I have a number of ideas to help raise awareness—"

"I believe I shall take my chances on the ice," Killian interjected with a smirk as he took an unsteady step. Instantly, his feet went out from under him, and he slammed into the ice. "Or on my back, as it appears."

"Oh, my God!" Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as she stood over Killian. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine," Killian answered with a grimace. "Did I mention that aside from being rather slippery, ice is also significantly unforgiving?"

Hermione bent down and helped Killian struggle to his feet. Once upright, he reached into his coat and removed his wand.

"What are you doing?" Hermione gasped as she pushed his wand down, concealing it from view.

"I'm assuring I don't fall again," Killian answered simply.

"You can't," Hermione pointed out. "We're underage and off school grounds. It's illegal for us to use magic."

"For you, maybe," Killian pointed out with a grin. "But I'm certain I could get away with it."

Hermione glared at the arrogant Slytherin. "I'd rather not test your theory."

"Hermione, I—" Killian began.

"Please?"

Killian paused, looking at Hermione as she stared up at him. She could see that he was contemplating. Begrudgingly so. He looked to the sky, then back to Hermione, then off to side, then back again. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he replaced his wand within his jacket.

"You simply wish to see me in pain, don't you?" he asked with a smile.

Hermione's eyes beamed as she skated away and wound back again.

"See, now," Killian pointed out, "I cannot do that."

"Sure you can," Hermione assured, now pacing back and forth with ease, almost taunting Killian as he stared back at her through narrowing eyes and another raised eyebrow.

"Having already felt the cold sting of gravity pairing with inertia, I am inclined to disagree with you," he said as Hermione stopped in front of him.

"Here …" Hermione reached for Killian. "Take my hand."

Surprisingly, Killian obliged without further complaint, taking Hermione's hand and cautiously following her lead across the ice. Awkward and unstable, the two completed several laps around the pond, feeling the cold winter air sting their cheeks as the fragrances of the season permeated their surroundings.

"Bloody Muggles and their ridiculous practices," Killian lamented, as he nearly toppled while they rounded the far bend near the snow bank encompassing the area, causing Hermione to giggle under her breath.

Together, they continued to skate along hand in hand. Looking over at Killian, Hermione felt warm with amusement. He was so uncomfortable, so out of place. Yet, there he was. He was there because she had asked him to come. He was there because it was something she wanted to do. She knew how foolish he felt. Furthermore, she knew he would never allow anyone else to see him in such a state. Still, he was there … There for her.

"See?" Hermione said as they turned about at the end of the pond. "You're getting it."

"Yes …" Killian conceded with a roll of his eyes. "Thrilling."

As they rounded the end and continued on, Killian started to lose his footing once again. Fighting to maintain his balance, he spun off the side of the pond, tripped and fell into the snow bank, pulling Hermione down on top of him.

"Well," Hermione said, breathing heavily as she surveyed the damage. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be."

"Maybe from your position," Killian groaned from beneath her.

Hermione got to her feet, laughing as she brushed the snow from her jacket. Killian did the same, albeit not as gracefully. Together, they made their way to the bench alongside the pond and sat down.

"My gloves are all wet," Hermione shivered, removing the soaked garments and rubbing her hands together. "I'm freezing."

"That's what happens when you play in the snow," Killian teased, removing his right glove and taking hold of Hermione's hands. "You _are_ cold."

He massaged her hands for whatever warmth it could provide. In truth, the action itself was not as warming as the emotions it inspired. There was so little time at school, so many distractions that kept them apart. Even now, Hermione knew that their time would be short. It was almost five o'clock, and she had to get to Grimmauld Place before it got too dark.

Killian continued to work Hermione's hands, the fingers of his bare hand interlacing with hers. Whether this was a conscious effort or merely part of the process, Hermione could not be certain. In truth, she was rarely entirely certain of Killian's intentions. Nor hers, of late, for that matter. She merely wished to embrace the moment, forgoing all questions her mind may throw about.

"What will you be doing for the holidays?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing that wouldn't bore you," Killian dismissed. "Ghastly family gatherings mostly."

"You can be so enthusiastic at times," Hermione said with a sardonic undertone, feeling almost saddened by Killian's dismissal of the season and its traditional happenings. "You should smile during the holidays. That's what they're for."

"I'm smiling now," Killian pointed out with a wink.

"You're intolerable," she said with a sigh, shaking her head and looking away. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," Killian agreed. "And as we've just discovered, I am also a terrible ice skater."

"You weren't that bad," Hermione lied.

"Really?" Killian asked with mocked surprise.

"No, not really," Hermione admitted with another laugh. "You're actually pretty awful at it."

They sat on the bench for nearly an hour, ignoring the cold, enjoying the company. It was such a simple pleasure, but Hermione would not have traded it for the world. They bantered back and forth about every bit of anything that came to mind. Everything that mattered, everything that did not matter. It was not a debate over literature, history, or sociological inequalities. It was just words. Simple words. Countless words. Words that somehow meant everything and nothing at all.

When Hermione spoke, Killian listened attentively. As he did so, Hermione noticed how every so often his eyes would dart away for a fraction of a second, focusing on another area of her face, as if attempting to memorize every detail of her image. And when he spoke, Hermione found herself doing the same, observing minute tendencies she had never paid attention to in the past. How the corner of his mouth would curl ever so slightly for certain sounds. How often he would nod, shrug, or tilt his head to the left. How his eyes smiled, even when his face did not.

After a time, Hermione began to lose awareness of everything around them. The cold, the retreating daylight, the people passing by … None of it mattered, none of it even existed. There was no other element in their world at the moment aside from each other, together on a bench by a frozen pond on a winter's evening that could not have been more perfect.

The minutes ticked by, the light faded, and the skies grew dark. As with all moments in life, this moment, however pure and flawless, was inevitably going to come to an end. A moment that would have gone on forever if reality favored kindness over despair would cease and another moment would take its place.

"I need to be going," Hermione said reluctantly as she glanced to the sky.

"I know," Killian agreed with equal unwillingness. "Shall I walk you?"

"Probably not a good idea," Hermione answered. "Someone might see us. It's not far. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Killian asked. "I'd feel better if I knew you got there safely."

"I'll be fine," Hermione insisted once again.

"All right," Killian finally agreed, now firm in his footing with the skates removed.

"I imagine we won't see each other until after the holidays," Hermione said with a heavy heart, her one hand still in Killian's, uncertain if she should pull it away or move in closer.

"Probably not," Killian agreed.

"I didn't even get you anything," Hermione admitted. "I wasn't sure …"

Killian smiled. "Your company is far greater than any gift I could receive."

As usual, Hermione was not quite sure if Killian was being clever or sincere. Upon looking into his eyes, she decided to believe the former over the latter.

"I don't want to go," Hermione admitted as snow began to fall from the heavens.

"There will be other times," Killian promised. "Unless, of course, you get caught commiserating with a Slytherin around a frozen pond," he added with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes and slapped Killian across the chest when suddenly, and for reasons Hermione could not fathom, Killian appeared oddly uncomfortable. In truth, that was not quite the correct description, but she could think of no other word to express it. She felt the pressure as he grasped her hand tighter, drawing closer, then retreating several times in succession, shifting back and forth on his feet ever so slightly.

It was almost as if he did know how to say goodbye. The thought seemed almost silly. Regardless of what they were or were not, Killian had bowed down to kiss her hand in theatrical retreat numerous times in the past. Surely this time it was no different.

Or perhaps it was. Perhaps that was it exactly. This was not theater, it was not a performance. Killian had removed the mask he wore so often to hide from others. The person who stood before her was not the arrogant reclusive Slytherin who reluctantly accepted his house placement within Hogwarts. No, the person looking back at Hermione was just a boy who held her hand in the falling snow with the same uncertainties she possessed.

Feeling overwhelmed, Hermione threw her arms around Killian, kissing him warmly on the cheek. It was certainly crossing a line, but was not entirely a leap of faith. Just far enough to feel right. Even more so when she then felt Killian's arms around her waist as she nuzzled into his shoulder.

Pulling back only so far, Hermione saw a smile wash over Killian's face. Not the customary grin he so oftentimes wore. It was different. It was happy, almost cheerful. It was contagious.

"Happy Christmas, Killian …"

Killian paused a moment and simply looked at Hermione. It was a fraction of a second. Too short to be measured, yet long enough to take notice. In that moment, Hermione was overwhelmed with a sensation she had never experienced before. Not with him. Not with anyone. Unfiltered, unadulterated contentedness.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione …"

After a hesitation of her own, Hermione unwillingly withdrew from Killian's embrace.

"I really have to go."

"Right," Killian conceded.

"I'll see you back at school," Hermione continued as she backed away.

Killian nodded, smiling again. "Of course."

With that, Hermione turned and raced towards Grimmauld Place. When she reached the entrance, she looked around to see if anyone was watching. Down the street, Killian peered from around the corner. He had followed her. Of course he had followed her. He would

never allow her to walk the streets at night alone. Not if he could help it.

With a modest wave, Killian Disapparated, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts on the stoop of Grimmauld. Not quite ready to relinquish the moment, Hermione stood there in silence, feeling a warmth around her as the cold snow continued to fall, clinging to her hair and clothing. She needed the simple distraction the late afternoon provided. More so than she had realized. Looking to the heavens and watching as the snowflakes, illuminated by the street lights, danced against dark backdrop of the night sky, Hermione took a deep and cleansing breath. A moment later, she rang the bell.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Beetle Proposal

_So, another post ... Has it been a week since the last post? Yes? No? Kind of lost track of time. It's been a long week. A good week. A good long week. Apple picking, haunted shacks, haunted trails, live events, and the possibility of finally owning a pet pig. So yeah ... It was one of those kind of weeks. I mean, seriously, who doesn't want to have a pet pig?_

 _But I digress ... Moving on ... A new chapter is up ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Eight -_

 _The Beetle Proposal_

Hermione glanced cautiously around the corner, seeing Killian walking alone and unknowing. She had finally found him, having searched for nearly twenty minutes after leaving Harry and Ron in the Great Hall after breakfast. At the time, she had only forty minutes until her Arithmancy class, most of which she had now wasted running throughout Hogwarts.

With a quick flick of her wand, a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ lying on a corner table at the end of the hall leapt through the air, striking Killian square in the back of the head. It was not Hermione's intended location, but it accomplished her goal well enough. Before the text had even hit the floor, Killian spun around, instinctively drawing his wand, only to see Hermione frantically waving him over from her relatively hidden vantage.

Dropping his arms with a look of complete befuddlement, then massaging the rising welt on the back of his head, Killian slowly walked towards Hermione.

"Have you gone mad?" he asked.

"I needed to get your attention," Hermione whispered.

"Had you thought of calling my name?" Killian asked on. "I've been known to respond fairly well to that."

"I was worried someone might notice," Hermione explained.

"I see," Killian surmised. "And assaulting a student with a piece of literature you believe to be less conspicuous?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbing Killian by the arm and dragging him down the hall to a vacant classroom. After entering and ensuring there was no one about, she closed the door and shifted off to a darkened corner.

"What has you all up in a fuss?" Killian asked. "Are you all right?"

Hermione looked at Killian, noticing the look of concern etched in his face. Feeling suddenly guilty for having pulled him along with absolutely no explanation, particularly after striking him with a book, Hermione released Killian's arm and stepped back.

"I'm sorry," she said. "No, everything is fine."

"Are you certain?" Killian asked, his concern still evident.

"Yes," Hermione assured. "I'm fine. Everything is fine."

Killian said nothing. He simply stared at Hermione with an unmistakable look of doubt. Hermione was often so in tune with what was flowing through her mind she did not realize that no one around her had any idea what was happening as she rushed off without a word or, as in this case, dragged someone aside for her own purpose.

"I promise," Hermione continued with a smile, now attempting to lighten the mood that had somehow become quite serious. "I just needed to speak with you."

"Speak with me?" Killian asked, having no reservations in regards to displaying his amusement. "Persuasive start to the conversation," he punctuated, again massaging the back of his head.

"I said I was sorry," Hermione apologized once again. "Come on, I don't have much time and I need your help."

Killian cocked his head, his eyes contracting and releasing ever so slightly. It was one of Killian's more subtle forms of body language, and one Hermione had never paid any amount of attention before. Now, however, she could not help but notice every time it occurred.

"All right," he said with a coy grin, now sitting back on one of the long desks that lined the classroom, his legs swinging back and forth. "How can I be of service?"

 _So annoyingly formal_ , Hermione thought with a shake of her head.

"So, here is the problem …" she began, now pacing back and forth as she so often did when her mind was racing. "No one really knows what happened in the cemetery. I mean, someone knows," she quickly corrected, "but no one wants to believe him. Which is completely ridiculous by all sensibility. Choosing to disbelieve something that you know may be true has no bearing on the actuality of it occurring. And now with the Ministry functioning under this stubborn refusal based entirely on fear, they are stopping at nothing to completely discredit everything and anything said about that night that does not fit the narrative they've presented. But I believe I have a solution. I remembered—"

"Are you talking about Harry and Voldemort," Killian interjected, looking completely lost.

Hermione froze. Was it Killian's causal mention of the Dark Lord's name without so much as a hesitation? Perhaps the fact she only just realized her words had been flowing like a water through a sieve, with no regard to the fact that she was jumping right into a rather complicated scenario with little to no details leading in? Or was it the lost look upon Killian's face. A look of someone who no longer wanted to be there, no longer wanted to partake in the company or conversation?

All could be true as a whole or any combination thereof. Regardless, Hermione felt suddenly and terribly out of place.

"Yes …" Hermione began, stopping once again as she attempted to gather herself. " … The night Cedric … I mean … I came up with a plan I thought …" Her pulse was racing as a knot arose in the pit of her stomach. "… And I thought you and I could maybe …" Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest. She felt as though she were suffocating, breathing air as thick as water. The look in Killian's eyes as they fell upon her seemed so foreign … She could not place the expression, could not define how it appeared. What had just happened and why did she feel this way? "This was a mistake," she went on, darting towards the door. "I shouldn't have—"

"No, wait!" Killian reached out and grasped Hermione by the hand.

"I have to go …" Hermione pleaded, attempting to pull away. "Killian, please …"

There was a tempest of emotions battling within her that made absolutely no sense. She had currently lost all notion why she went to Killian, no idea why she babbled on about everything she was thinking, and no idea why she was now crying uncontrollable, wishing for nothing more than to run away and hide.

"Hermione," Killian pressed on, now sliding off the desk and grasping Hermione's other hand as she continued to struggle, albeit with less effort, and look away in an attempt to hide her sudden outburst of emotions. "What is it? What did I do?"

Pressing her eyes shut and feeling the tears stream down her cheeks, she slowly turned back to Killian, no longer resisting. She felt his thumbs gently stroking the back of her hands, she could hear his breath amidst the silence. As she opened her eyes, she saw Killian standing there, biting the corner of his lip with uncertainty.

"Nothing," Hermione said. "You didn't do anything."

"No, I did something," Killian assured. "I … I …" he kept on, as if searching for the right words. "I reacted poorly. I was not prepared …"

Killian attempted to lock eyes with Hermione, but she was not ready to do so. Although the overwhelming sensations that had been pulsing through her only seconds before had begun to fade, she now felt ashamed.

"We've never …" Killian continued. "… You've never spoken to me of … Well anything you and your friends have gone through. I wasn't expecting it."

"I'm sorry, I—" Hermione tried to apologize.

"Stop apologizing," Killian said. "You've done nothing wrong."

Hermione was suddenly reminded of Killian's admonishment of William for apologizing the night he fell prey to the effects of the Unbreakable Oath earlier in the year. A sign of weakness.

"I dragged you in here without a word," Hermione pointed out. "I didn't prepare you to—"

"And that was my misstep, not yours," Killian cut in again. "One must always be prepared for anything."

It was clear Killian was not going to allow Hermione to shoulder the burden of blame. It was quite the difference from other relationships she had in her life where one person or the other strove to lay responsibility on anyone but themselves. At times, she, herself, had fallen prey to this common ensnarement of the human ego.

Oft times, even when one is taking fault, it is merely for show. An act enforcing sacrifice to establish some form of personal gain. Upon finally looking into Killian's eyes, however, Hermione could see this was no performance, no self-serving moment. She could see he wished for nothing more than ability to wash away the previous minutes and do it all again in a different manner. Yet even in realizing this, Hermione knew she, in the very least, shared in the blame. She had blindsided Killian with a subject they had never breached in the past and it, as one would expect had they been paying attention, went wrong. And like Killian, Hermione also wished erase what had just happened.

Now calm, Hermione took a deep breath, pulling away from Killian and setting herself aside a row of shelves containing books of varying degrees of wear. Killian followed, spinning a chair, straddling it, and resting his chin on his arms while adjusting his sleeves to hide his hands, the latter of which he had been making a habit of doing over the last several months.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

Hermione took another deep breath to choke down the tears that seemed ready to burst forth once again. What was wrong with her? In truth, she knew what it was. In part at least. She simply did not wish to admit it. In Killian's words, it would be a sign of weakness. But after what had just happened, it seemed silly to hide from it any longer.

"Yes …" Hermione explained. "It's just … All these things that happen. It's always something, it never ends. And I listen. I try to be helpful, I try to be supportive. The best I can be, all the time. But it builds up and I …" she faded off, biting her lip and looking away. "… I don't have anyone to talk to. I don't have anyone to help me. I don't have anyone who …"

Hermione did not finish her last thought. She felt as though she sounded like a self-absorbed child crying out for attention. It was not her intent. And her feelings would be considered more than valid by any reasonably minded individual. Still, it did not dissuade her sense of selfishness in expressing these thoughts.

As it turned out, nothing she was thinking, selfish or otherwise, truly mattered. Upon her utterances, Killian stood from his chair and approached her. Being aside a bookcase with her back to the wall, she had no escape, no means of retreat as Killian moved in.

"Hermione," he said as he placed his hand under her ear, cupping her head, his palm against the soft skin of her neck. "Don't look away …" he went on as Hermione again pressed her eyes closed, as if this simple act would somehow hide her from sight. "… Please look at me."

Hermione opened her eyes again as Killian wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"You have me," he said.

Hermione offered a halfhearted smile of doubt. How could he possible say that? How could he possibly know what he was offering?

"I am being sincere," Killian went on. "There is nothing you can say, no subject you can bring forth that will change anything." He placed his forehead against Hermione's. "I will always be the complete ass you've grown to know."

Hermione rolled her eyes, now shaking her head with a more comfortable smile as she pushed Killian away. Killian smiled in return and retreated to his chair, awaiting the continuation of whatever it was they were supposed to be discussing before the conversation had gotten so far off its intended course. His purposeful humor had helped deviate away from whatever had been brewing inside Hermione for so long, recreating the focus she had when they had entered the classroom.

"You were saying …" Killian offered with a wave of his hand.

"Right," Hermione said as she, once again began to pace the floor, explaining her plan have Rita Skeeter write a tell-all article about the events that happened in the Riddle family cemetery. How to tournament cup had been turned into a portkey to lure Harry into a trap, how Lord Voldemort had arisen and murdered Cedric Diggory, and numerous other details the Ministry had attempted to sweep away from the public consciousness.

Killian listened as Hermione went on and on, back and forth, doubting herself, then reasserting her sense that it was the correct course. It was as if Killian was merely an audience for the voices that argued inside Hermione's head. In truth, that was all he had to be. Someone who would listen. Hermione knew what she needed to do, she did not need validation. She simply needed an ear.

Much had changed in the last several weeks. It was not long ago that Hermione was practically leaping from her chair in Hagrid's hut to assure Hagrid did not disclose to Killian that he had been away seeking help from the giants. And now she was in an empty classroom sharing intimate details, not only of what had been going on within the very tight inner circle of herself, Harry, and Ron, but the details of a very risky plan she had every intention of pursuing.

"Am I mad for believing this could work?" Hermione finally asked.

Killian rubbed his chin in ponderment. "You are aware those most of whom subscribe to _The Quibbler_ are not exactly credibly distinguished, right?"

"Of course," Hermione answered.

"So if the Ministry of Magic is intent on making Harry out to be a mentally unstable pathological liar," Killian reasoned, "where is the good in having his story released in a periodical that is read by many who, themselves, are of less than a stable mind?"

"Because that's just it," Hermione explained. "His story will be told. And you, yourself, just said it. _Most_ of whom subscribe are not credibly distinguished. Which means there are those who are. Perhaps they simply read it for their amusement, but they read it. And they will read of what actually occurred, what Harry actually went through. _The Quibbler_ reaches a large audience. Which means a large number of people will see Harry's story. Credible or not, these people will be talking. And the people they talk to will talk to other people who will talk to other people and so on."

"Which is all well and good," Killian conceded, "with the exception of one very important detail. How, exactly, do you intend to get Rita Skeeter to write this article you have in mind?"

"She will …" Hermione assured with a devilish grin of her own.

"Confidence aside," Killian said. "How can you possibly know for certain?"

"She does not want to face the consequences if she does not," Hermione explained.

Killian's eyes lit up. "You have something on her …" he said with almost theatrical astonishment. "Do tell …"

Hermione grin broadened, glancing away and actually feeling a pinch evil as she pondered whether or not she wished to share her little secret. She knew inevitably she would, but relished the look in Killian's eyes as he eagerly waited on her response.

"Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus," she finally answered.

"She is not," Killian said with rhetorical doubt.

"She is," Hermione confirmed. "A beetle. And if she does not want to end up in front of the Wizengamot, she _will_ do as I ask."

"Hermione Granger … Well done," Killian said approvingly. "A beetle? … That certainly explains her inexplicable source of information."

Killian stood and approached Hermione, who was feeling particularly proud of herself at the moment. Placing his hands in his pockets, he leaned in.

"You are brilliant," he whispered as he continued past Hermione and towards the door, glancing out through the small opening at eye level. "And it appears you have missed your first class."

Hermione rushed to the door and peered through the opening aside Killian. The corridor was filled with students passing through on their way to their next class for the day. A part of her had to know. They had spent far too long having what was meant to be a brief conversation. Still, a sickening feeling arose in the pit of Hermione's stomach. An agonizing sensation that was soon quelled and replaced with another when she felt Killian's hand on the small of her back.

"You can go first," he said. "I'll wait here for a bit."

As Killian reached for the door, Hermione blocked his hand, which he quickly pulled back and tucked away in his sleeve. She then turned to him as the clatter of a parade of footsteps echoed on the other side of the door.

"Do you really believe I'm brilliant?" she asked.

"If you don't move along, you'll likely miss your next class as well," Killian dodged, displaying one of his more annoying grins.

"Answer me," Hermione pressed on. "You say things like that all of the time. Do you mean it?"

Killian glanced to the floor, then back to Hermione.

"Do you really need my opinion of that?" Killian asked.

"No," Hermione asked simply. It was now her turn to look away before returned her eyes upon Killian "But I would like it just the same."

Killian reached out and grasped a lock of Hermione's hair that had fallen in her face, gently placing it behind her ear.

"Absolutely brilliant …"

For a moment, Hermione's next class did not seem all that important. In the next moment, however, she was exiting the classroom amidst a throng of her fellow classmates and continuing on unnoticed. Harry and Ron, no doubt, were waiting for her. She would have to come up with some excuse or another. Neither took Arithmancy, so claiming the class ran long would seem a suitable explanation that could not be easily refuted.

In truth, Hermione was not terribly concerned. There was so much going on in their dramatic trio at the moment, it was not likely either of them would pay it any notice if she were a few minutes late meeting for class. Someone else would notice. Someone who was neither Harry nor Ron. Someone who truly believed she was brilliant. And while Hermione did not need the validation Killian provided, she loved hearing it just the same.


	9. Chapter 9 - Bedtime Stories and an Unwel

_Sooooo ... It has been a few weeks since my last post. I promise I did not abandon the story. I merely got caught up in life. As is the case in many a life, life itself has an annoying tendency to get in the way of what we want to do with things that we have to do. But the next chapter is up and ready to go ... or be read ... or whatever. Without further typing ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Nine -_

 _Bedtime Stories and an Unwelcomed Guest_

Valentine's Day had arrived and the students of Hogwarts, both paired and unpaired alike, roamed the streets of Hogsmeade with a skip in their step. Whether it was the spirit of the holiday or the effects of the Bottled Bliss Fred and George had used to spike the pumpkin juice on the Ravenclaw table at breakfast, one could not be certain.

The latter was part of an ongoing prank war the twins had begun with Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, in part due to their friendship with Michael Corner whom was currently coupled with Ginny. And while Bottled Bliss, in and of itself, was a relatively tame prank, Fred and George had added an extra twist of incorporating the ability to pass slightly diluted effects of the potion along to others via burping. This led to an entertaining morning filled with belches and smiles.

Luckily, Hermione had been given advance notice of the prank, so she and a few fellow Gryffindors were able to breathe in an incense mixture of mint leaves and olibanum to create an antidote for the belching augmentation of the euphoric elixir. Doing so was a proactive way to avoid finding themselves victims of another of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Did anyone see you?" Hermione asked as Killian approached the location they agreed to meet near the end of High Street where the road branched off into the surround woods.

"I imagine numerous people saw me," Killian answered with a smirk.

 _Sarcastic, but not particularly blissful_ , Hermione thought. "Did anyone burp on you?"

"That is an interestingly odd and specific question," Killian answered, visually perplexed.

 _Better to be safe_ … Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a small jar of the ground up antidote to the Bottled Bliss. With a quick flick of her wand, she ignited the mixture. A thick plume of smoke arose from the jar and Hermione waved its trail under Killian's nose before he had an opportunity to process what was occurring.

"That is absolutely horrid," he said, his face contorting in wrinkled features of displeasure. "Dare I ask its necessity?"

"Fred and George," Hermione answered, as if the mention of their names was enough to suffice as an explanation.

Apparently, it was, as Killian offered no further complaint or inquiry. After Hermione snuffed the incense and replaced it in her bag, she and Killian walked along the path on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was relatively quiet, as most of the happenings were occurring within the central areas of Hogsmeade near Honeydukes and Zonkos. While Madame Puddifoot's was only a stone's throw away, those who were haunting that establishment were far too preoccupied gazing into the eyes of the person sitting across from them to notice a pair of students walking along the tree line through the frosted windows.

"It's a beautiful day," Hermione said, catching a snowflake in her palm.

"For February, I suppose," Killian said as he twirled his wand, creating a tiny vortex among the falling flakes in his area. "I often pondered why a holiday intended to warm one's heart would fall within the most cold and dreary month of the year."

"I imagine it was purposefully planned as such," Hermione mused with a thoughtful smile as she gazed at their surroundings. "The cold of the season warmed by feelings of love and all of that."

"Lust," Killian corrected.

"That was cynical," Hermione said, kicking lazily at the snow and she strode towards Killian. "Even for you."

"It was not meant to be," Killian went on, his tiny vortex drawing in the surrounding snowflakes as they fell about him. "I merely meant that love and lust are often incorrectly interchanged. Lust is a simple chemical reaction to visual stimulation. Love is far more complicated."

"So you're brilliantly cynical," Hermione punctuated, flicking her wand and dispelling Killian's parlor trick.

Killian paused and watched as the swirling bits of crystalized water fell at his feet. "You're stressed," he said, giving the snow a disinterested kick of his own. "I should not be antagonizing you."

"It's not that," Hermione said, turning and pacing in random paths. "I mean, yes," She quickly corrected. "The stressed part, not the antagonizing. Well, that too, but not just that. I don't even—" Hermione cut herself off with an amalgamated sigh and grunt, frustrated she could not put her thoughts to word. Even more so that she was not entirely certain why Killian's remark had set her off in the first place.

"Take a breath," Killian suggested.

"I just did," Hermione said.

"Take another," Killian suggested further.

Hermione folded her arms and closed her eyes, taking in the cold winter air. The fragrances of the surroundings filled her senses. The scent of baked goods, candies, frozen trees, and wood burning from any number of fireplaces … Through she would not admit it, Killian was right. It was calming.

"It's Valentine's Day, is all," she finally admitted. "I just wish I wasn't preoccupied with all of this. There are better things to do."

"Really?" Killian asked, his eyebrow raised with a grin that curled the corner of his lip. "Someone has captured your fancy? Dare I ask whom?"

Hermione nearly choked on her own breath. Did he really just ask that? Was he teasing? He had just remarked that he should not be antagonizing her at the moment. Of course, she had also just told him that his actions were fine. He knew better though, did he not?

She had asked him to meet her while she waited for Rita Skeeter. He said he would, as he knew it would be a difficult day for her. She had no love lost for the disgraced journalist, if she could even be referred to as such. That was a certainty. But Rita was a vital part of Hermione's plan, and as such, today's events were unavoidable. But Killian did not agree to meet Hermione, a request he had not acquiesced to in the past, simply for that reason alone, had he?

"Just some boy," Hermione answered, believing she was playing along, but oddly uncertain. "He quite insufferable most times. But he has his moments."

"I like him already," Killian said without hesitation.

Perhaps Killian was simply better at these games. Or perhaps Hermione was too distracted with the task at hand to keep up with his plays. Perhaps still, Hermione had somehow been misreading their relationship over the past year. She did not believe she had. During their previous visit to Hogsmeade, he held her hand as she lay her head on his shoulder. She supposed it could have just been a friendly gesture. She had certainly laid her head on Harry or Ron's shoulder any number of times in the past. Maybe not interlacing her fingers with theirs, but still … The night they first met, he was going to—

Hermione's thought processes were suddenly impeded as a fairly good sized snowball struck her in the shoulder. Standing with her mouth agape, she looked over and saw Killian, his wand drawn with several more snowballs hovering before him, ready to be fired at will. Forgetting her doubts, she drew her wand and deflected the next assault before retaliating with her own barrage of icy projectiles.

The onslaught continued for several minutes of laughter and shrieks. Feeling much more at ease and forgetting everything that had been plaguing her conscience, both in regards to Killian and otherwise, Hermione summoned up a hefty pile of snow and thrust it at her Slytherin adversary. Killian diverted the strike with a slash of his wand, sending the avalanche directly towards Luna, who had walked up upon the two of them unnoticed.

"Luna!" Hermione gasped as the whimsical Ravenclaw shook the snow from her hair and brushed down her coat. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's quite all right," Luna dismissed. "Most of the snow missed my face. I saw the commotion and thought there might be Wytherharns afoot. They can be quite mischievous. Are you quarreling?"

Hermione ran to Luna and helped her clear the snow from her hair and clothing. "No, of course not," she answered.

"Were we not?" Killian asked with a grin.

"No," Hermione reiterated, glaring daggers at Killian, "we were not."

"Oh hi, Killian," Luna offered with a smile. "I didn't realize it was you."

"Hello, Luna," Killian returned.

"You know Killian?" Hermione asked with surprise.

"Not really," Luna answered. "But I've heard of him."

 _Of course she has_ , Hermione thought. Everyone has heard of him now.

"From my father mostly," Luna continued, catching Hermione unaware. "Not so much about you as your family. Although he does ask about you from time to time. I told him you mostly keep to yourself. But not today, it seems."

"Your family knows the Lovegoods?" Hermione asked Killian.

"Not that I'm aware of," Killian answered with a shrug.

"He talks about them a lot," Luna went on. "They're a very interesting family."

Now Hermione's curiosity was piqued. Why would Xenophilius Lovegood be speaking of the Finn family? What would there be to speak of?

"Interesting ho—" Hermione was suddenly distracted, seeing a peculiarity in Luna's attire. "Why are you only wearing one boot?"

"My other one turned up missing this morning," Luna explained. "Nargles, I suspect."

"Nargles?" Hermione went on. "Luna, you can't walk in the snow with one boot."

"I can't walk in the snow with no boots either, now can I?" Luna argued in return.

"No, you cannot," Killian agreed.

He was not smiling. Not even a grin. No gleam in his gaze, no raised eyebrow. Instead, his eyes were narrowed, his brow tense, his lips pursed. It seemed as though he wished to say something, but feared to expel his current thoughts. His mind was awhirl, that was a certainty.

"Wait here," he went on before turning and heading towards the inner streets of Hogsmeade.

Hermione and Luna obliged in silence, watching as Killian disappeared around a corner. For several moments, they stood there, neither saying a work. No thoughts came to Hermione's mind. Her only concern at the moment was that Luna had come across her and Killian together. Did she find it odd? Would it be something of concern? They had agreed to meet in that location to avoid this exact scenario. But Hermione should have known Luna would come looking for her. She was an integral part of her plan, after all.

"Do you think he's coming back?" Luna finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly. She was entirely uncertain where Killian had gone or why. For all she knew, he had used this as an opportunity to escape. Certainly Killian was as thrown off as Hermione had been. "Why don't we sit down?"

Luna agreed with the suggestion and the two of them found a flattened stump to sit upon. Whether Killian returned or not, she and Luna still had time until their scheduled meeting with Harry to discuss her Rita Skeeter plan. With Luna being short one boot, it did not seem right to be walking about. So passing the time sitting on a stump seemed the only logical option.

However, since they were now alone, Hermione had an opportunity to dig a little deeper into the Xenophilius' Lovegood's interest with the Finn family. It seemed peculiar to Hermione. Mr. Lovegood's interests always appeared such things that were strange and out of the ordinary in some fashion or another. From the little that Killian spoke of his family, Hermione gathered they were, dare she say, boring and proper, possibly having some political ties, but certainly mingling within upper tiers of society. And as much as Hermione hated to categorize people, she could not see Mr. Lovegood mingling with anyone within said upper tiers.

"It's nice to see," Luna said.

"What is?" Hermione asked.

"A Gryffindor and a Slytherin getting on," Luna clarified. "I imagine that doesn't happen very often."

"I imagine not," Hermione agreed.

"I don't think anyone would even believe me if I told them," Luna went on. "So I suppose I won't."

Hermione looked at Luna. The odd Ravenclaw wore a sweet smile. An oddly distant smile, but sweet just the same. She was certain this was Luna's way of saying she understood Hermione's quandary. At least, she was mostly certain. Being that Hermione, herself, was not entirely certain what was or was not going on, it would be difficult to believe that Luna would be all the wiser. However, regardless of the less than flattering nicknames that bounced around the school, Luna was not a fool. She knew very well that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin together in the outskirts of Hogsmeade, not firing violent curses and jinxes at one another, was something meant to be hidden by those involved.

Fred and George, and now Luna. Hermione's secret was beginning to test Hermione's ability to trust. She had often trusted before, and trusted many different people. But rarely had it been something so close and important to her, as well as potentially damaging should said secret be revealed.

"So how is it that your father knows the Finns?" Hermione asked, deciding to leave things as they were, not wishing to try her luck.

"I don't think he actually does," Luna answered. "But he finds them fascinating."

"Why is that?"

"I'm not sure … But my father also a healthy obsession with Voldavia."

"Voldavia?" Hermione echoed with a laugh that she immediately choked away.

Voldavian folklore and everything contained within would certainly be of interest to Mr. Lovegood. However, to all else within the wizarding community, it was little more than bedtime stories and fanciful parables. And rare ones at that. Hermione could scarely recall a tale or two and could not recall ever seeing anything in print.

"Yes," Luna confirmed. "He's read a great deal about it. I enjoy the stories about the Goddess myself. Do you think Mr. Finn could be an author?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered. In truth, Killian had never mentioned anything about what anyone in his family did for a living. Old money she assumed. It was not as though the topic was avoided, it simply never came up. In the vast amount of conversations they had over the previous year, the only family they ever spoke with any amount of frequecy was his sister. Even then, it was more or less just about her time at Hogwarts and Killian's clear envy of her talent. "Why would you ask?"

"No reason," Luna said with a shrug. "It's just that when he talks about the Finns it's usually when he's reading. Recently when he was reading about the Outland Circumbendibus. It sounds lovely. Have you heard of it?"

"I don't believe so," Hermione answered honestly. This sort of fiction had never been of interest to her. Not that it did not have its place. It was just that Hermione preferred to fill the corners of her mind with subjects that had meaning and purpose in the real world.

"It's a gathering ground in the plains of the Outlands," Luna explained. "By the old cobblestone castle. It's like a festival that never ends. And everyone is welcomed, without fear of rivalry."

"It certainly sounds like a fantasy," Hermione mused.

As everything of Voldavia came from children's stories, fantasy seemed the appropriate term. Fanciful fantasy might have actually been more accurate, as the very thought of rivals gathering anywhere without tension or incident seemed as likely as the Slytherins forming a house tie with the Gryffindors. Yes, she and Killian went against that belief, but they were two individuals. To believe that entire groups of individuals who are at war with one another would be able to form anything of an even remotely similar bond is an entirely different scenario.

"One of my favorites," came a raspy voice from behind.

Hermione and Luna turned around and saw an elderly gentleman standing behind them. He appeared to have come from the woods, possibly from one of the many nearby trials leading from the brush. His display was simple and harmless, wearing a kind smile in contrast to his dark robes and deep purple gloves.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said. "Just overheard your conversation. I was not aware Hogwarts now offered studies in fiction"

"It doesn't," Hermione clarified.

"No?" the man said. "Probably for the better. Fictions are a wonderful escape, but probably not fitting in your world of academics. Better for the elders like myself. Much less to distract us."

There was nothing threatening about the man whatsoever. Nothing in his eyes, nothing in his expression, nothing in his stance would give one the impression of ominous intentions. Yet, for some reason Hermione felt uneasy. She could fathom as to why. But it was something. She wanted him to leave. His very presence made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see that Luna held the same intuition. She remained silent, staring at the aged man who stood before them, her eyes glazing over, her normally clunky, yet uplifting expression washing away.

"Is everything all right?" Killian asked, walking over with a box and small wrapped package under his arms.

Hermione was not certain she had ever been more relieved to see her Slytherin. Her breath of relief had never felt so soothing. She would have run to him if not or in doing so she would have to cross the individual who had intruded on their moment. And leaving Luna on her own was out of the question.

"Quite," the man said, turning to Killian and straightening up.

Killian stopped and narrowed his eyes at the man. It was clear he, too, also shared in Hermione's disconcerted sensation. Unlike Hermione, however, he made no attempt to hide it.

"Then perhaps it's time you moved along," Killian suggested, although it was painfully evident this was much more a direction than a proposal.

"My apologies," the man said, raising his hand over his heart. "I meant no harm."

"Even still," Killian came back, his head tilting forward, his eyes fixed ahead.

Hermione had seen the expression before. Earlier in the year as Killian stood across from Adrian Pucey in the courtyard outside Hogwarts. That day did not end well, and Hermione did not wish to revisit it. Taking Luna by the hand, the two of them stood and quickly joined Killian. Together, the three of them watched as the old man took several steps back before pausing with a broad and unnerving smile.

"Again, my apologies," he reiterated before vanishing in a wisp of smoke.

Hermione exhaled. She could feel Luna's hand shivering in hers, even through their warm woolen gloves. It was if the air had been lifted upon the man's departure.

"Who was that?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Luna answered in her usual calm and capricious tone, although the shiver in her hand remained. "But I've seen them before."

"Them?" Hermione asked on.

"Oh yes, there are several," Luna answered.

"Where have you seen them?"

"By my home mostly," Luna explained. "They like to watch. Father says we shouldn't speak to them."

Hermione's heart rate increased as her as portentous thought raced through her mind. "Are they Death Eaters?" she asked.

"I don't believe so," Luna answered.

"No matter," Killian interjected. "He's gone now."

Hermione could not have disagreed more. Whomever the man was and whatever his purpose, it seemed very much to matter. Luna's anxiety contrasting with Killian's dismissal of the event made it it even more so. Regardless, he was gone. And for the moment, it appeared that would have to be enough.

"These are for you," Killian went on, handing the box to Luna as if nothing had transpired at all.

Luna accepted the box, opened it, and pulled out a pair of black leather boots crossed with straps and silver buckles. They were much finer than the patched cloth boot she wore along with the simple worn shoe that adorned her opposite foot. Luna smiled and walked over to the stump she and Hermione had used as a makeshift chair. Sitting down, she removed her shoe and put on one of the boots.

"It's lovely," she said, standing and taking several steps to get a good feel for the fit.

"I was not certain of the size," Killian explained. "I hope my estimation was correct."

"Perfectly," Luna said. "But you didn't have to do that."

"There are a great many things we do not have to do," Killian said with a grin.

Hermione looked at Killian. She thought of how his actions often were so very unlike a Slytherin. His words were so very unlike a Slytherin. He was so very unlike a Slytherin. She knew this. She had known this since the very moment they first met. But at times is seems so insignificant, so far from her mind, she would forget the barriers they were forced to endure over simple house placements. A pair of boots for a fellow student who was being teased and harassed both reminded Hermione why she was drawn to Killian as well as why their existence was so difficult.

"You realize there are two boots in that box," Killian offered.

Hermione turned and saw Luna still pacing back and forth in the snow, the box now closed to secure the second boot and her single shoe.

"Yes," Luna replied. "But I think it would be better to save it. Nargles are funny creatures. If they fancied my one boot, it's likely they will come back for the other. This way, I should be better prepared."

With a tilt of his head and a raised eyebrow, Killian looked to Hermione for some offer of explanation. Hermione had nothing but a shrug and smile.

"She makes a good point," she said.

"I suppose she does," Killian agreed with a laugh.

Hermione leaned into Killian, bumping him on the shoulder and resting her head on his shoulder. She wished to do more. She wished to hug him, to demonstrate how she felt. But her sudden doubt and Luna's presence cautioned her to be more subtle and restrained. She felt good, she felt comfortable, and she did not wish to do anything that would compromise that sense of calm.

"Should we be off?" Luna asked as she approached, rocking back and forth on her heels, admiring her new apparel. "Won't Rita be waiting for us?"

"We probably should," Hermione answered. "I am not looking forward to seeing that woman."

"You will survive this," Killian said with a comforting grin. "And all will be well, I am certain."

"If only I had your confidence," Hermione groaned.

"Confidence is just a word people use when they already know the outcome," Luna said as she began towards the path. "I find that determination is far more impressive."

With another exchange of glances, Hermione took a step towards Luna before pausing and turning back to Killian. She was going to let it go. Perhaps it was better suited for another time. But her curiosity could not be quelled.

"Is your father an author?" she asked.

"He's an ambassador," Killian answered with a quizzical expression. "Why would you ask?"

"No reason," Hermione answered. "Just curious."

She then joined Luna and the two continued on towards the inner streets of Hogwarts to make their way to the Three Broomsticks. As much as Hermione detested the company she was about to keep, she knew it was for the best. The end would justify the means. And Luna was correct. Determination outweighs confidence. Regardless of her doubts, Hermione's determination had never been a character trait in question.

"Wait!" Killian called to them when they had already walked a good distance.

Hermione and Luna turned to see Killian running up along their fresh footprints in the fallen snow, the small package he was carrying still under his arms. When he reached them, slightly winded, he unwrapped the bundle and displayed a pair of flowers.

"I could not help but notice that it is Valentines Day," he said. "And it appears that whomever it is that has caught your eye neglected to engage in the even the simplest of affections." He then took one of the flowers and offered it to Luna. "Nor, it seems, has anyone properly appreciated you."

Was he teasing? Playing along? Did he really believe she was serious when she mentioned an interest earlier? Did it really even matter at the moment?

"I've never received a flower," Luna said with a beaming smile as she accepted Killian token.

"Truly an oversight that required rectification," Killian said with a bow of his head. "As is this," he went on, offering Hermione the second flower.

Hermione took the flower and closed her eyes, hoping her smile was not as telling as she believed it to be. She then lean in with her lips on Killian's ear.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Killian whispered in return. "Now off with you. You have an arrogant and conniving reporter to manipulate."

She did not wish to back away. She wished to remain in the moment, feel the warmth of his face, take in the scent of his skin that enveloped her senses. But Hermione knew there were more important things that needed to be addresses. As Killian often reminded her, there would be other times. And while she was growing impatient, the exhilarating tension of their pace, if there even was a destination, made it worth the wait.

"All right," Hermione said to Luna, who was taking in the fragrance of her flower. "Let's get this over with."

"Yes," Luna said. "The sooner the better I think. I find Rita Skeeter to be less than pleasant. But I suppose we have to deal with unpleasantries from time to time."

 _Sometimes more often than that_ , Hermione thought.

"Thank you for the flower," Luna said.

"It was my pleasure," Killian said with another bow before turning and walking away.

Hermione and Luna continued towards the Three Broomsticks, down the crowded streets of Hogsmeade, dodging both couples and those wishing to be in the company of someone. It was in the air, it was in the heart, and it was in the flower Hermione held in her hand.

When they reached their destination, they stood at the window and saw Rita Skeeter sitting alone at a table. She looked quite different than the last time Hermione had crossed paths with the journalist whose leads she manipulated via her status as an unregistered Animagus. Her hair was out of place and her face held an expression of continued distress. It appeared her current state of unemployment had not found her well.

Hermione took a deep breath before reaching for the door.

"He doesn't seem like a Slytherin," Luna said unexpectedly.

Hermione just smiled. No, he did not seem like a Slytherin at all. More and more Hermione began to realize that Killian was not a Slytherin. Nor was he a Ravenclaw, as he had wished to be. He did not belong to any house or group or faction. He was simply Killian. And as she breathed in the scent of the flower he had presented to her, Hermione convinced herself once again that, if only for the day, he was hers.


	10. Chapter 10 - Laurels of Plans Gone Awry

_Once again, it has taken longer that I would have liked to get another post up and ... well ... posted. Lots of things going on at the moment. And there was the whole Cubs winning the World Series for the first time since 1908 thing that has been going on. Being born and raised in Chicago, it was a rather significant moment of happiness in a year filled with current events that have been less than pleasant, to put it lightly._

 _But alas, it is completed. With any luck, the next chapter will not take near as long. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Ten -_

 _The Laurels of Plans Gone Awry_

The next several weeks were met with a wave of emotional peaks and valleys. It was difficult to enjoy and highs as a significant low almost immediately followed. And while one attempted to come to terms with the blow, a burst of excitement came to pass.

During this period of time, Hermione had a heart to heart discussion with Harry about his date with Cho, finding that, like most other boys she of whom she was affiliated, Harry knew very little of how the female mind was put together.

Gryffindor lost its Quiddich match against Ravenclaw, the score being much closer than the game itself. If not for Ginny Weasley catching the Snitch, a feat she attributed to sheer luck due to the Ravenclaw Seeker sneezing an at inopportune time, Gryffindor would have been truly embarrassed in all phases on the pitch. Ever the consoler, Hermione did her best to try and sooth Harry's despair over not being able to participate and Ron's damaged ego for his less than stellar play. In truth, perhaps she had not done her absolute best. But as it was, she never understood their significant emotional attachment to something as simple as a game. To her, there were far more important areas where her emotions would be better at use.

Harry continued to struggle with his Occulemency studies with Professor Snape. This, much more than a loss on the Quiddich pitch, was a point of concern for Hermione. She was beginning to doubt just how much Harry wanted to pursue this ability. Not for the obvious reason being that Harry and Professor Snape had no love lost between them. Having the ominous instructor as his tutor was, no doubt, a stress in and of itself. It was more so because Hermione was starting to wonder if Harry truly wanted the Dark Lord out of his head. Sometimes when he spoke of it, even though his words came out in frustration, anger, even fear with what he had experienced, there was something in his voice, something in his tone, something in his expression … A part of Harry enjoyed the sensation, enjoyed the power he felt, welcomed the encompassing rage that flowed through him. It frightened Hermione to see it, and was difficult to ignore.

Hermione's Rita Skeeter plan had worked well beyond her anticipations. Harry's interview was published in the Quibbler and distributed shortly after. Almost as quickly, said periodical was banned from Hogwarts, compliments of Professor Umbridge's Educational Decree Number Twenty- Seven. This meant any student found in possession of the Quibbler would be immediately expelled from the school. As expected, any and every student throughout Hogwarts went out of their way to get their hand on a copy of the contraband literature. Thus, news of the article's contents spread like wildfire.

This was not only true within the school. The interview was being read far and wide, with Harry being inundated with letters, both supportive and inflamed. And while Harry appreciated the overflow of support, the negative responses were certainly a concern as well. Particularly because in said interview Harry named the Death Eaters whom appeared in the Riddle family cemetery the night the Dark Lord returned, the night Cedric Diggory was murdered. This drew more than a fair share of maleficent glares from the Slytherin table, particularly from Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Theodore Nott, all sons of Death Eaters outed in the article. And while all were well-known and documented former followers of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, an accusation of current alignment after having said erstwhile they were unwilling disciples of the Dark Lord, either through fear or the Imperitus Curse, being outed by a teenaged boy from Hogwarts was a publicity that proved damaging in both the public and private sectors.

Even in the wake of what could only be considered an overwhelming victory as far as Hermione was concerned, there was tragedy. Professor Trelawney became the latest victim of Hogwarts' High Inquisitor, being removed from her post in Divinations. Although Hermione was never fond of the socially and academically awkward instructor, her treatment at the hands of Professor Umbridge was deplorability in its most callous of forms.

As a small silver lining on a dark storm cloud, Professor Dumbledore was able to step in and ensure Professor Trelawney was not cast from grounds entirely. But the damage had been done, the statement had been made. The Ministry of Magic was in control of Hogwarts, and there would be more heads to roll on their proverbial chopping block.

Even after gut wrenching drama surrounding the dismissal of Professor Trelawney there was a glimmer of hope. Beating both Professor Umbridge and the Ministry to the punch, Professor Dumbledore assigned Firenze to fill the vacant seat at the faculty table. The centaur's appointment caused a stir within his herd, to the point of his banishment. But it seemed, as much as Hermione hated such a doctrine, the ends had justified the means, as all of the students were in agreement that his class was nothing short of mesmerizing. Although, for several girls it appeared to be more about his fair features and chiseled physique than his teachings.

So just when it seemed Professor Umbridge had gotten the upper hand, Dumbledore used one of the Ministry's own Educational Decree against them, taking advantage of a verbiage oversight that allowed him to install Firenze before the Ministry could anoint another of their own personal and obedient watchdogs. Firenze being a half-breed infuriated the Ministry's High Inquisitor all the more.

Now having a moment to breath, Hermione was able to take some time to focus on something that had been on her mind since the odd encounter with the old man in Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day. His mannerism alone were enough to send a chill down one's spine. Not so much for what he did or how he did it. It was more that it was clear that what he did or did not do had little to do with his intentions. And those unknown intentions were what gave Hermione cause for concern. Particularly after Luna made mention that she had seem others like him before.

Making her way to library, Hermione spent a few moments glancing through the rows of dusty tomes filled with every sort of literature imaginable. She doubted very much she would find success on her own, but having to ask assistance from Madame Pince had never been one of her more enjoyable actions. Having no luck in her search, she found there would be no other option.

"Excuse me," Hermione said as she approached the desk where Madame Pince was sorting through a stack of books, examining each one in detail to ensure no student had caused it any harm, before filing it into its appropriate pile.

"Yes," Madame Pince addressed without so much as glancing in Hermione's direction.

 _Ever pleasant_ , Hermione thought. For whatever reason, Hermione believed Hogwarts' faithful librarian's nose appeared more hooked and beakish than normal. Or perhaps Hermione was simply in that kind of mood. "I'm looking for some books," she went on. "Or any book actually on a particular subject. I can't seem to find anything on it."

"What subject, author, or genre?" Madame Pince asked, just as curt as previous, her eyes still focused on her task of examining and sorting volumes.

"Voldavia," Hermione answered. "Any author."

Madame Pince paused, staring at a copy of _Newts of Bognor_ by Walter Aragon. Her eyes then darted up towards Hermione. "Hogwarts does not house books on children's fictions," she said in a tone far more stern than seemed appropraite given the topic.

"Perhaps in the Restricted Secti—" Hermione began to ask before Madame Pinch slammed her book down with an echoing crack.

"I have given you an answer via a very articulate and direct sentence," she directed, her eyes like sharpened daggers, her lips pursed in a scowl. "What part within the string of sounds and accents strung together in an attempt to communicate an organized thought was unclear to you?"

"None of it," Hermione gulped, taken aback by the sudden outburst.

"Then, if there is nothing further, be on your way," Madame Pinch dismissed, returning her attention to another published work.

Hermione backed away, her mouth slightly agape. Then, out of the corner her eye, she saw a man walking among the rows, grasping at books and giving them a casual glance before replacing them on the shelf. And while it appeared that his interest was in browsing, his eyes darted back and forth between the Madame Pince's desk and the literature lined before him. Looking back to Madame Pince, Hermione saw that her eyes appeared to glance in the man's direction as well before redirecting to her stacks of books.

Why, she could not be certain, but Hermione began to slowly walk towards the stranger in the library. He seemed oddly out of place. It was not his dark robes, as numerous professors within the school, including Professor Snape, dressed in said fashion. He was unfamiliar. Older, but not old, his skin aged, but not wrinkled, his hair peppered with bits of grey among his short dark locks.

Then, as he replaced his most recent fallen interest, Hermione saw it. Gloves, deep purple in color, the same as the old man in Hogsmeade. Hermione's eyes lit up as she hastened her pace.

Almost as if sensing her approach, the man turned and began down the row and out of sight. When Hermione reached the area he had occupied, she saw nothing but a wisp of his cloak around the corner at the end. Now, giving chase, she raced between stacks of books only to see the entrance doors to the library swinging shut.

 _What am I doing_? she thought, continuing her pursuit. _I must be mad …_

Pushing through the doors and entering the hall beyond, Hermione stood in shock. There was no sign of the man she glimpsed in the library. Her eyes scanned the area, searching down each long and open hall, but there was no trace of movement beyond the straggling of students here and there.

 _Impossible_ , she thought. _He has to be here somewhere_.

The man had exited the library only seconds before Hermione. There was no possible way for him to have escaped her view. Even at full sprint, the distance he would have had to cover before being able to turn a corner at either end of the hall would have been too great. Further still, his increased pace would have left the fading echoes of footprints as he created distance.

Did she simply imagine him? Such a vivid hallucination seemed extremely unlikely, even given the vast amount of stress and lack of sleep Hermione's current life provided. And Madame Pince saw him as well, did she not? Or did she? It appeared that Hogwarts' cantankerous librarian had looked in the man's direction. Was this imagined as well?

Determined to prove her own sanity, Hermione walked along the hall her with her eyes dancing about, searching every nook and corner. Turning around the end of the corridor she came across a gathering of Slytherins commiserating in a huddle of murmurs and repartee. Hermione's presence was immediately recognized, Flora and Hestia Carrow casting their deadpan gaze in Hermione's direction while Lucian Bole gave a simple disinterested role of his eyes.

Ready to turn back and search the other end of the hall, as she had no interest in any potential taunting or conflicts with her classmates at the moment, Hermione was sidetracked when she noticed Professor Snape walking in her direction alongside Killian. Instinctively, she stepped back into one of the alcoves along the hall in order to hide within the shadows it provided. Why she took to this action, she want entirely certain. It was not as though her presence in the hall was furtive. Still, she felt as though she needed to hide.

Killian and the head of the Slytherin House parted ways as they crossed Killian's housemates. Professor Snape continued down the hall, passing Hermione without paying her any notice. Or perhaps he did not see her. Perhaps still, he did not care. What was clear, however, was both Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson knew very well where Hermione was, the former looking towards Hermione with an insidious grin before whispering the latter's ear. After casting a glance of her own, Pansy then approached Killian with gleaming smile, placing her hand on his chest and adjusting his tie, giggling with playful banter.

Hermione's heart fell into her stomach. She had never really thought of Killian's relationships with other members of his house. They must have existed in some form or another. She had witnessed so little of his candid interactions, within his house or otherwise, oft times only spending any significant time around him when they had stolen away in some dark recess or empty hall. The sight of Pansy freely placing her hands on Killian, though … Laughing … Flirting … A sickening sensation ravaged Hermione's body, a sudden sense of incredible unknowing, absolute foolishness, and a desire to be left alone.

Hearing that the conversations had quieted to a silence, thus believing the group of Slytherins had moved on, Hermione left her place in the alcove with her eyes on the floor, turning headfirst into the firm flesh of Killian's chest. The shock of the unexpected collision caused Hermione to twist awkwardly on her ankle, stumbling into Killian's arms, his hands grasping her with a tender fixedness as he held her upright.

"Hermione?" he asked, his one hand now sliding up her arm as she attempted to right herself. "Where did you come from?"

"I was just …" she started off, mildly attempting to shake herself free of Killian's grasp. " … I was looking for someone."

"Did you find him whomever it was in the alcove?" Killian teased.

"No, I …" Hermione began again to no avail. It was useless. She could not hide her embarrassment. Furthermore, she was oddly uncertain she wanted to do so. "It's nothing …"

"Are you certain?" Killian asked, tilting his head in an attempt to make eye contact.

"Yes," Hermione assured, giving in and looking up at Killian.

She offered a halfhearted smile before lowering her head again, resting it on Killian's chest with a sigh. Closing her eyes, she felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt, failing, despite her best efforts, to convince herself it did not bring her comfort. Reaching up, she placed her hand on Killian's chest in the location only just occupied by Pansy wretched appendage, watching her fingers softly drum along with the heartbeat she felt against her palm.

"Hermione?" Killian asked quizzically.

She had taken too long a pause, savored the moment's touch beyond discreteness. Coming to her senses, she reached up and grasped Killian's tie.

"It's crooked," she said.

It was not. Not even slightly out of place. But Pansy had touched it, tainted it. Hermione needed to remedy that immediately. She felt silly, having jealousy over such a thing. What right did she have? Pansy could place her hands wherever she pleased. And if they were to wither, break, and fall off altogether, that would be fine as well.

Attempting to step back from Killian, who was wearing a grin that arose in Hermione a desire to draw him closer, Hermione stumbled once again. Having not entirely released her arm, Killian reapplied his grip.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his grin now replaced with concern as he guided Hermione to a bench along the wall near the alcove Hermione had been hiding within.

"I'm fine," Hermione lied.

In truth, she had turned her ankle quite significantly. Not enough for a visit to Madame Pomfrey, but enough to welcome the seat she and Killian now occupied.

After Hermione adjusted herself as comfortably as possible, Killian reached down and grasped her leg just above the ankle, pulling it up and onto his lap. Hermione's first instinct was to pull it away in protest. It was quite a liberty he had taken, after all. But she did not. For once, her desire outmatched her impulse to retreat and protect herself.

"What are you doing?" she asked as Killian ran his fingers along the side of her lower calf, softly tracing her ankle.

"I'm ascertaining if you are being honest," Killian answered with a smirk.

"And where, exactly, did you receive your medical training?" Hermione asked.

"It's not that difficult," Killian explained, moving his hand up Hermione's leg just beneath her knee.

The gentle touch of Killian's fingers sliding over the thin cloth of her long white stocking skin caused a sudden warmth as a flood of blood rushed to Hermione's face, her leg shivering ever so slightly as he slowly massaged the area under her knee, down her calf, and towards her ankle. Hermione's heart pounded with a fury as she condemned herself for her lack of control, fighting the overwhelming desire to reach out and grasp him. A desire she follow through with only a moment later, although not for reasons she would have liked, as a sharp pain in her ankle caused her to claw at Killian's shoulder, clenching his shirt within her fingers.

"Sorry," Killian apologized, immediately decreasing the pressure of his massage as he had found the point of injury just above Hermione's shoe.

"It's all right," Hermione assured, smiling through gritted teeth. "Just a bit sore, is all. I'll be fine."

"I'm certain you will," Killian agreed. "It does not appear you have broken anything."

Even with this assertion, Killian did not release Hermione's leg, continuing to run his fingers along her curves, tracing the outlines of her muscles, occasionally applying just enough pressure to send a quiver up her leg, through her spine, and into nape of her neck. He had to know what he was doing to her. He was being far too attentive to be that oblivious, was he not?

Realizing she was now grinding her teeth, Hermione caught herself, biting her lip in an effort to contain the swelling sensations swirling within her and hold her tongue, keeping safe the things she wished to say at the moment, things she was not sure she should, things she feared would not garner the response for which she thirsted.

"So who were you looking for?" Killian asked, drawing Hermione's attention away from her daydream.

 _He is oblivious, after all_ , Hermione thought sullenly. "No one," she answered with a sigh that seemed to take the wind out of the moment. "I just thought I saw someone."

"Well, which is it?" Killian asked on, turning to Hermione with a smile. "No one or someone?"

 _So oblivious_ , Hermione thought on. Although even as she attempted to be put off, the reflection in Killian's eyes as he looked at her, the curve of his mouth, the tone of his voice … She could not. "I thought I saw someone I knew," she explained. "I was wrong."

It was not clear if Killian believed Hermione's explanation any more than he believed her denial that she had injured her ankle, clumsily stumbling into him as she exited her hiding area in the shadows. No matter, she did not intent to further the discussion. Particularly since she was not entirely certain whom she was looking for or why.

"Was that Professor Snape I saw walking past?" Hermione asked in an attempt to change to subject.

"Yes," Killian answered, his fingers now slipping under Hermione's knee high sock, gently sliding it down and exposing the bare skin of her leg. "He's in a bit of a mood."

Hermione squeezed Killian's shirt as he continued down her leg. Her eyes fixated on his hands, all but covered by his sleeves with the exception of his fingers that, for some reason, Hermione saw as very Slytherin at the moment, snaking across her skin like predators caressing the earth as seek their prey.

"Why is that?" Hermione asked, again biting down on her lower lip, taking long deep breaths.

"I seem to have lost a considerable amount of points for our house," Killian answered with an amused grin.

Hermione's euphoria hit a sudden wall, looking to Killian with disappointment. "You've gotten another detention?" she asked. "Killian …" Hermione's tone came across almost chastising.

"What is there to do?" Killian dismissed with another grin. "Professor Umbridge and I simply do not see eye to eye." He then looked to the vaulted ceiling of the hall in mock contemplation. "Perhaps if she grew a few inches …"

Hermione released Killian's shirt and slapped him on the shoulder. "Stop it," she teased.

Unfazed, Killian ran a finger up the back of Hermione's leg, either purposefully or unknowingly tickling the tender skin behind her knee. Whatever his intentions or lack thereof, Hermione regained her grip on Killian's shirt in a silent gasp, certain he could not miss her skin's reaction to his touch.

"I'm sure Professor Snape is at the end of his patience with you," Hermione went on, attempting to distract Killian in the hopes he would remain unknowing.

"To the contrary," Killian clarified. "He more or less said to stay the course. I don't believe he is particularly fond of Umbridge," he added with a wink.

Could it possibly be that she and Professor Snape actually shared an unspoken bond in something? The thought struck Hermione as oddly humorous. Although, when it came to Professor Umbridge, Hermione mused that there were a great many people, students and faculty alike, with whom she shared said accord.

"Even so," she said, "I'm certain he's not happy a member of his house is so regularly represented in Umbridge's office."

"Probably not," Killian agreed. "I was actually hoping when he was going to inform me he'd gotten me out of it. Unfortunately, he was merely passing along a message that it was to be delayed until later this evening. Apparently, Professor Umbridge is having a meeting with Professor Dumbledore and the Minister. That should be an interesting gathering."

"I imagine it will be quite odd and uncomfortable," Hermione said with a laugh to cover another chill running through her neck and Killian's hands slid a little too high on her inner thigh.

"I imagine so …" Killian shook his head. "Speaking of …"

He then paused. It appeared as though he wished to say something, but thought better of it. This, of course, was not something Hermione would tolerate.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," Killian answered, readdressing his attention to his very thorough massage. "It's just …" He stopped again.

"What?" Hermione asked again.

"Pansy Parkington," Killian answered with a quizzical look etched in his expression.

Hearing Killian speak her name aloud after what Hermione had just witnessed caused her to bite down hard on the lip she had been nibbling. This led to a jolted reaction that caught Killian unaware. He immediately raised his hands off Hermione's leg and leaned away.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," Hermione assured, cursing herself in her mind. "It's … I'm okay."

"I can stop if you wish."

"If you want to …"

 _Please don't stop_ , Hermione thought, begging the universe for Killian to read her mind and disregard her words. Although hesitating, Killian slowly returned his hands to her leg, paying more detail to her injured ankle this time as Hermione heaved a mental sigh of relief.

"Pansy Parkington," she said.

"What?" Killian asked, clearly thrown off by the distraction.

"You were saying," Hermione led.

"Oh yes," Killian began, squinting as if searching the recesses of his often annoyingly pretentious vocabulary for the correct words. "It was … odd, is all."

Hermione did not respond, simply waiting for further explanation. Killian did not immediately proceed, again appearing as though he was attempting to make sense of something all the while attempting to explain it.

"I don't believe she has spoken so much as a handful of words to me in all the years we've shared a house," he went on. "Then just now she was …"

"What?" Hermione pressed, now maddeningly intrigued as to where Killian was going and growing increasingly impatient.

"I don't know," he explained. "Very personal."

Hermione laughed. "I know how much you dislike being personal," she teased.

"I don't very much like being touched, I suppose," Killian clarified with a grin.

Hermione's heart pulsed with a rhythm that forced a smile she could not subdue. It was apparent that Daphne and Pansy's attempt to mettle had gone awry. Far from being enticed, Killian had rejected Pansy's advances unequivocally. More importantly, in contrast to Killian admission of his dislike for physical contact, Hermione realized she had yet to remove her hand from his shoulder, an interaction by which he had offered no objection.

Perhaps he was oblivious. Perhaps he knew very well. Hermione no longer cared one way or the other. Pansy had been turned away, and only moments later Hermione found herself sitting on a bench with Killian, her leg draped over his lap as he tenderly offered her his every attention. She would not allow the moment to be tainted with feelings of jealousy or slight. Killian would very likely be heading off to detention soon. In the meantime, Hermione simply enjoyed the sensations beneath Killian's fingertips as her thumb gently offered Killian's shoulder a soft and delicate massage of its own.


	11. Chapter 11 - Dueling Egos

_See? I knew I could get another chapter up without having to take several weeks. Don't worry, I won't let it go to my head. Nothing else to say ... Nothing clever at any rate. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Eleven -_

 _Dueling Egos_

Before the sun rose over the horizon the following morning, the news had already spread through every corner of Hogwarts's ancient grounds. The incident that had taken place the previous night, a moment Killian had previously been informed was merely a meeting, has devolved into a nightmarish scene that no student could have ever imagined possible.

The Room of Requirement was no longer the safe hideaway for a small band of rebellious students to train under Harry's tutelage. Dumbledore's Army was no longer a secret underground uprising against the influence of the Ministry of Magic and their loyal lapdogs that had undermined the spirit of everything Hogwarts had stood for over the previous thousand years. And worse than either of those two monumental blows to the already fragile moral of those who chose maintain hope, Dumbledore himself had been cast away.

Perhaps cast away was not as accurate a description as escaped into hiding. What was meant to be a meeting between the Minister, his High Inquisitor, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts became an attempt to expel Harry on the charge of attempting to create chaos and unrest within the school. Professor Dumbledore managed to sway the attention from Harry and convince the Minister the he, in fact, had been undermining the Ministry in an attempt seize control from Cornelius Fudge. As he maintained, it was _Dumbledore's Army_ , after all, not _Harry Potter's Army_.

While there was absolutely no truth to this, it succeeded in relieving Harry of suspicion and protecting him from expulsion. However, as with every act of sacrifice, there was a price to pay. The price for Harry's exoneration was for Professor Dumbledore to admit himself a traitor, a criminal, a now a wanted man. When the Minister ordered the Headmaster's arrest, the office was reduced unconscious Aurors, a befuddled politician, and furious High Inquisitor left to wonder how is was they let a single elderly sorcerer slip through their fingers.

Already fractured and barely keeping the pieces in place, Hermione did all she could to reassure Harry that all was not lost. As much as she wished to believe this to be true, Hermione found that she was losing faith, a growing fear of an ominous future slowly overwhelming her consciousness. All the while, whispers of another occurrence that began to circulate through the student body only furthered Hermione's waning confidence.

As she entered the library, she immediately spotted Killian sitting at one of the many long mahogany tables that lined the rows of dusty tomes. She had been looking for him since she heard the rumor shortly after she, Harry, and Ron had an unpleasant encounter with Draco and several of his housemates.

Making her way to the table, Hermione sat directly across from Killian, tossing her bag noisily into the chair next to her in the process. He did not look up. Instead, he continued to read and jot notes on one of several pieces of parchment littered before him.

She knew he was aware of her presence; he was simply being difficult. To remedy this, she gave him a swift kick under the table. Again, he offered no reaction, flipping through his book before continuing with his notes. She kicked him again to the same effect. Refusing to give in, Hermione began to continuously strike Killian's shin, making sure to use the point of her shoe, hitting the same spot, and increasing the impact with every swing.

"Why, exactly, do you find it necessary to pulverize my leg?" he finally asked, still not looking up from his book.

Hermione leaned across the table "Because I'm angry!" she whispered harshly. "That's why!"

"Well," Killian said with a faint smirk, his eyes meeting Hermione's while his head remained bent, "I'm glad to hear that violent acts of aggression are not the way in which you demonstrate joy."

"I'm angry with _you_!" Hermione clarified, trying to maintain her whisper.

"Really?" Killian asked dismissively. "You've only just arrived. I hardly think I've had enough time to effectively infuriate you."

He had a smart answer for everything. He knew why she was angry. He knew why she would be. She just could not figure why, exactly, he had done it. Of all the people within Hogwarts, Killian was the last student she thought would ever be a part of something so regulated, for lack of a better term.

"When were you planning on telling me?" Hermione asked, eyeing the silver _I_ attached to Killian's robes.

"In case it has slipped your notice, the last several hours have been nothing less than chaotic. I assumed you'd find out soon enough and come bounding by with some form of incessant interrogation," he answered rather coldly. "And you haven't disappointed, have you?"

Hermione was completely caught off guard by his response. She huffed in her chair for a moment, unsure as to whether she should continue the conversation—or lack, thereof—or storm off, leaving Killian to himself.

"You don't get to be upset!" Hermione snapped back, deciding that she was not through just yet.

"I'm not upset, I'm studying," Killian corrected, his eyes remaining locked on his book. Although at this point, Hermione was certain he was not actually reading.

She then noticed that Killian's right hand was concealed up to the base of his fingers within the sleeve of his robe. This, in and of itself, did not seem odd. He had been making a practice of wearing his hands within him sleeves throughout the year. Hermione had even teased him of it from time to time, suggesting it was a sign of depression. At least according to some Muggle beliefs within the psychological field.

This time it was different, however. It appeared as if he was making a conscious effort to keep his hand within the sleeve, to the point of holding the end of it between his thumb and palm to ensure that it did not slide up. A thought unraveled within her mind. She should have seen it long ago. She was too distracted, to desperate to use her time with Killian as an escape. And Killian was far too skilled at hiding.

"Why have you been wearing your hands in you sleeves?" she asked, unsuccessfully trying to remove some of the temper from her tone.

"Come again?" he asked.

He did not even flinch, his eyes remaining fixed upon his book. No reaction to her question, no indication that there was anything out of place. This, more than anything, indicated to Hermione that she was not mistaken. Not this time.

"What's wrong with your hand, Killian?" she pressed.

"I'm sure that I don't know what you're talking abou—"

" _Incarcerous wrist_!" Hermione cast with a quick twist of her wand.

Before Killian could react, a series of ropes sprung from the mahogany table top, braiding themselves around his wrist and pinning it down. Hermione quickly pulled his sleeve up, revealing a series of blood red characters carved into the back of his hand.

 _The Inquisitorial Squad is an honor and a privilege._

Hermione immediately released Killian and sat back in her chair, the anger in her face falling away and being replaced with shamed concern. She had already seen such writing carved into Harry's hand, and was disgusted by the barbaric practice. Apparently, Professor Umbridge had no qualms about using this technique whenever it suited her needs.

"Are we happy, now?" Killian asked as he concealed his hand within his sleeve, his eyes distant and cold, a look that Hermione had never seen directed towards her.

"How long has she been making you write that?" she asked, noting that the crimson scars were far deeper than those that Harry had shown her.

"Does it matter?"

"I don't understand," Hermione went on. "There are plenty of students ... well, Slytherins at any rate, who were willing to sign up. Why would she do this to you?"

"Apparently, I've developed a reputation," Killian answered, the continuing coldness of his voice stinging Hermione with every word he spoke. "I was informed several months ago I would make an excellent addition to her little band of brutes, and … let's just say that Professor Umbridge does not accept refusals."

"Months?" Hermione reasoned. "The Inquisitorial Squad was just put in place this morning."

"Do you honestly believe this has not been the Ministry's plan from the beginning?" Killian asked, no longer feigning reading, his eyes down on the polished wood of the table.

"You need to report this," Hermione pleaded as she had with Harry. "You can't let her get away with—"

"What I _need_ to do is study. So, if you don't mind …"

Hermione sat there for a moment, starring at Killian who refused to make any amount of eye contact. _Don't you dare cry_ , she thought. Regardless, she could feel her eyes begin to swell. Others had talked down to her before, but their words never cut as deeply as Killian's just had. Salvaging her pride, she grabbed her bag and swept out of the library.

 _Why are they so ridiculously stubborn?_ she thought, referring to both Harry's and Killian's refusal to report Umbridge to anyone with the ability to make a difference. Although it no longer appeared there even was such a person. Still, how could they just let her get away with it? She was arcane, and her practices were intolerable—bordering on illegal—even with the backing of the Ministry.

Hermione left the castle and headed across the covered bridge leading to the open fields near Hargid's hut. Cursing herself for failing to keep her emotions in check, a thin stream of tears finally burst from her eyes. At least there was no one around to see her.

"Wait!" Killian's voice echoed through the hollows of the covered bridge behind her.

She stopped in place, glancing to the rafters that lined to roof. He had come after her. Oddly, this caused another series of tears to well in her eyes. She wanted him to come after her, hoped that he would. Now, as it became a reality, she had only moments to get herself collected. She would not allow him to see how he had hurt her.

"Hermione," Killian said, finally catching up.

She refused to turn around. If he wanted to look at her, he was simply going to have to walk around her.

"Please," Killian said, his voice humbled. "I … I'm," he stammered uncomfortably.

Killian, as she had wanted, walked around and stood in front of Hermione. She looked up at him, her eyes remarkably clear for someone who had been crying only moments before.

"I didn't mean …" he began, and then lost his words. "I shouldn't have …" he began again with the same result. "I was frustrated …" he said at last. "It wasn't you. I'm …" he stammered again. "Please forgive me."

"You're apologizing?" Hermione asked, slightly amused at Killian's humility, but remaining stone-faced. "Isn't that a sign of weakness?"

"I …" Killian began once more as if he had something to say, but could not put it to words. "Not always," he finally conceded with a sigh, biting his lip. "Not with us."

"That seemed rather painful for you," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

"More painful than the quill," Killian answered through gritted teeth.

Fred and George suddenly came up alongside Killian in a manner much more friendly than Hermione would have anticipated. Fred slung his arm over Killian's shoulder, looking about cautiously.

"Are we set, then, Finn?" he asked with a guarded tone. "Hey, Hermione," he added with a nod.

"Absolutely," Killian assured. "Tomorrow. Nightfall. At the boat house."

"And you're sure it'll be clear?" Fred went on.

"Perfectly clear," Killian assured.

"You're the best, mate."

"First rate," George concurred as the twins headed back over the bridge towards the castle.

Hermione was perplexed. Killian? Fred and George? Mate? This seemed a bit surreal. Had she really just witnessed that?

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has taken a bit of a hit since Professor Umbridge passed the Educational Decree banning the sale and possession of their products," Killian explained. "They need a safe harbor to peddle their wares."

"And you're helping with that?" Hermione asked, smiling and shaking her head.

"Well, they seemed to realize the benefits of having an ally within this newly appointed and Ministry supported Inquisitorial Squad," Killian answered with his familiar grin. "I'm surprised there haven't been others who have realized the potential benefits," he went on.

Hermione thought about responding to Killian's subtle jab, but decided it better to simply turn with a huff and walk away in theatrical jest. She knew he would follow.

With that, the two of them continued down the path, crossing just beyond the border of the woods. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from Hermione's chest. While many of their conversations involved arguing to one degree or another, there had never been any spite in their tongues. It was certainly a feeling that she did not want to revisit.

"You're still a jerk," she said, crossing between the trees.

"I'm quite aware. You remind me regularly."

Hermione bumped Killian with her shoulder as they walked along, nearly causing him to trip over the path.

"You've heard D. A. is gone, I image," she said cautiously.

"Yes," Killian said. "I was sorry to hear of it. One of many things I was sorry to hear since last evening."

"You never even had an opportunity to join us," Hermione teased, albeit not with much feeling. "I know I was wearing you down."

"Remind me," Killian pondered aloud, "how many Slytherins had signed on to your merry rebellion?"

"It would have been different with you, and you know it," Hermione pointed out.

"Would it?"

Hermione did not answer, instead resorting to another shove with her shoulder.

"Regardless—" Killian laughed as he regained his balance once again "—I think I have had enough problems within my House without having had rumors of my joining an insurrection floating about the school. It was my understanding Harry was doing a fantastic job though," he added.

"He was," Hermione agreed. "He's a great teacher."

"I hear you've made some impressive strides as well," Killian went on.

"Is that right?" Hermione asked with a grin. "Were you checking up on my progress, then?"

"Just seeing if you were becoming a threat, is all," Killian teased.

"I'd be more than willing to give you a demonstration."

Killian offered a mock bow. "I would be both honored and intrigued."

"All right," Hermione agreed. "Tonight. After dinner."

"Location?" Killian asked.

"Here," Hermione answered, gesturing about the clearing in the trees.

"Done," Killian agreed, offering his hand to consummate the deal.

Hermione shook his hand and laughed at how silly their conversation had become. But, alas, her next class was coming up. After a brief exchange of words, she left the woods and headed back to the castle, with Killian waiting a safe amount of time to ensure that no one would be able to put them together.

. . .

That night, at dinner, Hermione was noticeably distracted as she hurried through her meal. Too noticeable for even Ron to miss. He glanced at her several times during the meal with a look of warped perplexion.

Finishing off her glass of pumpkin juice, Hermione saw that Killian had already left the Slytherin table. She pushed her glass and plate aside and stood.

"You're not even 'aving dessert?" Ron asked, his cheek stuffed like a chipmunk.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione retorted, shaking her head. "Do you ever stop eating?"

"I get 'ungry," Ron answered defensively. "Where're you off to, anyway?"

"To study," she lied as she began to walk away from the table.

"Yeah, I bet," Ron huffed as he took a rather oversized bite from a piece of Turkish Delight.

Hermione stopped and turned back on Ron. "And what is that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing," Ron answered with a scowl. "Been studying a lot lately, is all."

"Of course I've been studying a lot!" Hermione came back. "In case it's slipped your mind, regardless of what is happening, we still have our OWLs, and I, for one, am not planning on making a fool of myself simply because I was ill-prepared!"

Ron sat in his chair, his eyes wide and glazed over as he chewed the remainder of his cheek's stores. Hermione stormed out of the Great Hall, feeling a tinge of guilt for having lied to Ron. She justified it, however, by convincing herself that maybe her words would convince him to pick up his books and actually study.

Cautiously, she made her way out of the castle and over the covered bridge. Hogwarts' grounds were particularly quiet that night. The fragrances of the spring emanated from the flowers and trees, the only sounds being that of the soft breeze and distant chips and calls of the nocturnal creatures awakening from their long day of slumber.

She made her way to the clearing in the woods where she and Killian had agreed to meet and found it empty. A light mist was rolling in from the further reaches of the forest, causing Hermione to second guess her thoughts about the location of their after-hours excursion. As she glanced about the clearing, a familiar shadow emerged from behind one of the ancient trees.

"Running a bit late, aren't we?" Killian said, twirling his wand in his hand. "It's highly improper to keep a worthy adversary waiting."

"Well, I shall remember that when I find a worthy adversary," Hermione mocked as she drew her wand.

"I assume the standard dueling protocols are in effect?" Killian removed his robes and took his place several paces from Hermione, who nodded in agreement.

"Any restrictions on spell casting?" Hermione asked, imitating Killian's arrogant tone as she removed her robes and slung them over the low branch of a tree.

"Surprise me," Killian responded with a bow.

Hermione set herself up, wand at the ready, contemplating her first attack. In the Room of Requirement, the duels had been a bit different. The students were practicing specific spells, so there was very little guessing as to what was about to be thrown. This, on the other hand, was going to be less predictable.

" _Stupefy_!"

Sparks shot forth from the end of Hermione's wand, streaking towards her opponent from the house of silver and green. Killian countered the jinx, and it rebounded off a nearby tree before dissipating into the night air.

"Very clever," he complimented. "I had anticipated a simple disarming spell. Professor Potter has taught you well. What else do you have?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Killian. The air soon erupted with sparks and flashes of light as they unloaded a barrage of jinxes and counter-jinxes at one another. Dashing from side to side and ducking behind trees and bushes, the two cast relentlessly.

After several frenzied minutes, they took a moment to rest, sitting on the stump of a fallen tree, breathless.

"Not bad," Killian said, rubbing his shoulder, upon which he had tumbled awkwardly in an attempt to evade a Boils Jinx.

"You weren't even trying," Hermione chastised.

"Clearly, you're insane," Killian protested.

"All your casts were deflection and protection spells," Hermione pointed out. "You made no attempts to attack me."

"Obviously," Killian agreed. "I had no intention of hurting you."

"Well, my intention was to duel!" Hermione slapped Killian on the shoulder. "Not to take target practice against your defensive spells!"

"Are you saying," Killian began, as if contemplating Hermione's words, "that you _want_ me to hurt you?"

"I want you to _challenge_ me!" Hermione answered, exasperated. "Toying with me hardly benefits either of us!"

"Fair enough," Killian conceded as he got up from the stump and found his mark in the clearing.

Hermione sat on the stump for a moment, watching him as he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and loosened his sliver and green tie. He proceeded to unbutton the sleeve of his wand arm, rolling it up as he twirled his wand between his fingers. He then gestured to Hermione to take her place in the dueling line.

She got up and set herself across from Killian, a slight tremor of nerves starting to rise within her. Perhaps she should have left well enough alone. Then again, he would not really hurt her, would he? She had, more or less, asked him to try. Quite literally asked him to try, in all actuality.

She raised her wand to the ready, eyeing Killian. His expression had become dark and focused. Hermione imagined that his is what Pucey must have seen as he stood across from Killian during their altercation in the autumn. She wondered if Pucey had the same nervous reaction that she was experiencing as she stared into those cold eyes.

"On your move," Killian offered.

Hermione took a deep breath. _He won't hurt me_ , she assured herself. _He won't_. She raised her wand to cast.

" _Expelliarmus_!" Killian shouted with a twist of his wand before Hermione uttered her jinx, thus expelling her wand from her grasp.

" _Accio wand_!" Killian continued.

Hermione's wand arced towards Killian, who caught it out of the air. He then turned back on Hermione, who stood defenseless.

" _Rictusempra_!" he shouted as a jet of silver light streaked from his wand, hitting Hermione squarely in the chest.

She paused for a moment, shocked. In a matter of seconds, it felt as though a thousand fingers were tickling her ribs and stomach. She tried to fight it off, but quickly fell to the ground clutching her stomach and rolling about, shouting for Killian to call off his jinx, which he eventually did with a casual flick of his wand.

"Feel better now?" he asked, grinning broadly.

"A _tickling_ jinx?" Hermione asked with frustration, getting up from the cold forest floor. "You threw a tickling jinx?"

"I happen to enjoy that one," Killian explained. "It has the needed effect, and it's entertaining to watch."

"Give me my wand!" Hermione huffed as she stormed towards Killian, brushing the leaves from her skirt and sweater.

Killian backed up and held Hermione's wand over his head, well out of her reach.

"Be nice," he warned as she reached up in vain.

"Give it to me!" Hermione persisted, hitting Killian on the chest and pulling at his arm.

"You see ..." he teased, his grin infuriating Hermione, "... now you're getting violent. Not very lady-like."

Hermione continued to stretch for her wand that Killian held just out of her reach. She put her hand on his shoulder to gain leverage, her body pressing firmly against his.

"Miss Granger," Killian said, mocking an official tone, "you are in violation of Educational Decree number 31."

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked at Killian, only to realize that she was mere inches from his face. She immediately stopped reaching for her wand, her other hand increasing its grip on his shoulder.

"Which one is that?" she asked, her eyes locked with his.

"Boys and girls are not permitted to be within eight inches of each other," Killian recited.

"Is that right?" Hermione asked, her pulse beginning to accelerate.

"I'm afraid so."

"And what are you going to do?" she pressed on. "Take points from my House?"

"I have the authority," Killian pointed out, his infuriating grin having an entirely different effect on her.

"Yes, you do," she said as Killian's free hand slipped down to her waist while the hand that held her wand slowly lowered to hers, _The Inquisitorial Squad is an honor and a privilege_ still brazen and red.

Their contact was suddenly interrupted as an arrow hissed past Killian's ear and embedded itself into the tree just behind his head.

"Bloody hell!" Killian exclaimed, ducking as his eyes danced about searching for the source of the shot.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, spinning around and scanning the tree line.

Within seconds, the ground began to rumble as a herd of a dozen or more centaurs swarmed the clearing and encircled the students. Killian quickly slipped Hermione her wand as he turned and pressed his back to hers.

"Keep your back to mine!" he said, holding her hip with his free hand while drawing his wand to the ready. "They'll try to separate us!"

"What are they doing here?" Hermione asked, holding her wand defensively as the beasts pounded the ground around them.

"A very good question," Killian mocked. "Why don't _you_ ask them?"

One of the centaurs charged at them, raising his front hoofs and kicking at the air. Killian immediately cast a shield charm as Hermione pelted the creature with a blinding flash of light before it retreated back to the herd.

Bane, a particularly large and menacing centaur, raised his arm, and the herd fell into line. He approached the young students, who still held their wands at the ready.

"You trespass on our land!" The mighty centaur growled.

"Trespass?" Hermione asked. "We're on Hogwarts' grounds!"

"Land taken from us and now retaken," Bane declared. "And if your Ministry continues to seize what does not belong to them …" he cut himself off. He did not really have to finish. His point was made quite well. "So, I say again, you trespass on our land! Give me reason not to strike you down!" He drew his bow and put a bead on Killian.

"Well," Killian began contemplatively, "we were actually engaged in a duel prior to your spectacular entrance. It's highly likely that we would have killed one another on our own. So, striking us down now seems a bit over the top."

"A duel?" Bane questioned, his fiery eyes narrowing on the young Slytherin.

"Um … yes," Hermione stammered, trying to make her words sound sincere. "We were … I was ... going to kill him."

Bane seemed to contemplate this explanation. Lowering his bow, his eyes bounced between Hermione and Killian as they stood there.

"Show me," he grunted, gesturing for them to continue.

"Actually ... as it turns out … " Killian countered, but then found himself at a loss for words.

"We've come to terms with our differences," Hermione piped in. "Compromises and all of that."

"We were on our way back to the castle just as you arrived," Killian continued, following Hermione's lead.

"With your permission, of course," Hermione requested humbly.

She knew very well how intensely proud and territorial centaurs could be. She knew that it was pertinent to show humility and respect if they were to escape without hoof prints embedded on their chests. As they waited for Bane's response, it appeared that Hermione's approach was working. If nothing else, he had not driven an arrow through either of them to this point.

"Leave!" Bane commanded after what seemed like an eternity of silence, gesturing to the open fields of Hogwarts beyond the edge of the woods.

Killian grabbed his and Hermione's robes and they cautiously made their way through the herd, who separated just enough to clear a slight path.

"These woods belong to us!" Bane added, his baritone voice echoing through the forest. "Mark and remember!"

Once they cleared the herd, Killian and Hermione raced out of the woods, not stopping until they were several yards into the surrounding fields of Hogwarts. Breathless, Killian sat and rolled onto his back, looking up at the sky.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"They're obviously upset," Hermione answered, laying down on the grass next to him and joining in his stargazing. "Hogwarts isn't the only area the Ministry is restricting."

"That's not what I was talking about," Killian clarified. " _You_ were going to kill _me_? Not likely."

"Oh, yes," Hermione countered. "And I suppose you were going to _tickle_ me to death, were you?"

"I hadn't decided." Killian grinned, tossing Hermione's robes over her face as he rolled to his feet.

Hermione sprang up and threw her robes at Killian, who caught and tossed them back.

"You're impossible!" She laughed, slapping at him as they walked along the path back towards the covered bridge.

As they got closer to Hogwarts, they had to part ways, still fearful of becoming part of the incessant gossip that poured through the halls like water through a sieve. Now, more than ever, discretion was of upmost importance.

Hermione entered first, as had always been the routine. She took several deep breaths, trying to gather herself so as not to look conspicuous to any fellow Gryffindors. She gave one last glance over her shoulder towards Killian, who was waiting in the shadows of the courtyard. An unconscious smile broke across her face. She _knew_ he would not hurt her.


	12. Chapter 12 - Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

_Moving right along ... Here is the next chapter. We are getting near the end of the year, soooooo ... I don't know, I imagine things will start happening. Climaxes and all of that. Not quite at that point yet. Getting there though, getting there._

 _Alas, I digress ... Moving on ... I hope you have enjoyed the quicker release of these last few posts. Oh yeah, and the actual posts themselves. Enjoy them too, if you'd like. Up to you. I won't judge._

 _\- Chapter Twelve -_

 _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_

Hermione awoke the next morning groggy and exhausted, her ribs still tingling from Killian's tickling jinx the previous night. Her extracurricular activities were taking their toll, but she managed to convince herself that they were worth the deprivation that she was putting her body through.

Rolling out of bed, she got dressed, pulled her hair back, and gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror.

 _Dreadful_ , she thought.

A simple disarming charm. How could she have lost her focus? So much had happened over the last several weeks. Even more so over the previous two days. Still, it was no excuse for her lack of preparedness, her inability to center her concentration when most critical. This time is had been Killian using a jinx that resembled more of a prank than an attack. In another scenario it could be Hermione staring down the wand of an Unforgiving Curse.

She wanted another shot at him. Images of her mock duel with Killian played back in her mind.

Trying, with little success, to dismiss her displeasure with her performance, Hermione went about her morning. Breakfast, studying, Potions, Transfiguration, studying, library, studying. Regardless of what was transpiring within the school, there was no time to dwell on it. The students were expected to accept the abrupt transition from Professor Dumbledore to Professor Umbridge with an effortless and silent acceptance. While it was easier said than done, keeping busy helped ease numb the senses to a point and, at least in fleeting moments, forget what had transpired.

Hermione had not seen Killian all day. This came as no surprise, as their classes fell opposite each other on several days. She expected nothing different on this day.

While crossing the courtyard with Ron and Harry as the trio headed for lunch, Hermione was unexpectedly and incessantly pecked on the back of the neck by a paper hummingbird that flitted after her.

"Blasted little bugger," Ron said as Hermione watched the odd little bird.

The hummingbird hovered before Hermione at eye level before twisting, turning, and folding on itself, taking the form of a paper flower that floated in the breeze. Hermione reached out and gently took hold of it.

"Who's it from?" Harry asked her.

"Probably just a charm gone awry," she dismissed as she continued to walk along.

"Doesn't look like it went airy to me," Ron scoffed as he and Harry followed.

"The word is _awry_ , Ron," Hermione corrected. "As in 'away from the correct course.' And if you don't believe that can happen at Hogwarts, you obviously haven't been paying attention for the last five years."

Harry offered a half-hearted laugh, clearly still grieving the loss of their Headmaster. "She's got you there, Ron."

"Just came right for you, is all," Ron huffed, kicking the ground as he walked. "That's all I'm saying."

"Oh, please," Hermione said, rolling her eyes in her best attempt to seem disinterested. "It's just a piece of paper."

"Why don't you toss it then?" Ron asked.

"Because," Hermione began to answer, but paused as she pondered a plausible explanation. "I like it," she said simply and put the paper flower behind her ear.

Neither Ron nor Harry seemed particularly convinced by Hermione's response, so she resorted to simply dropping the subject altogether. If they did not speak of it, she would not have to come up with any clever responses. Aside from that, she needed to watch herself. She was starting to lose track of the lies she was telling to cover for herself. That was an extra stress she simply did not wish to deal with.

Lunch at the Gryffindor table was filled with the bustle of hushed whispers about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes opening shop that evening. Apparently, Fred and George had gone to great lengths to ensure they could distribute their merchandise without interference from Umbridge and the newly appointed Inquisitorial Squad. Barrier lines, passwords, and a certain unnamed lookout were only a few of the rumors being passed along. Any final arrangements, of course, were being withheld until the last minute for obvious security reasons.

"Nice flower, Hermione," Fred said as he sat at the table, accompanied by George and Lee Jordan.

Hermione pulled the flower out of her ear. She felt embarrassed, although was not exactly sure why. As she glanced at the intricate origami in her hand, she saw there was writing on one of the petals of the flower she had not noticed before.

 _Hope you're feeling all right_

 _\- K_

 _He feels guilty_ , she thought as she massaged her ribs.

A part of her was flattered by his concern while another part was still angry he had not effectively challenged her the night before. She wanted him to attack her. She wanted him to hurt her. Was that odd? Her mind wrestled with the conflicting emotions as she pressed the flower between the pages of one of the many books she had stacked beside her at the table. Ron, witnessing her demeanor, simply shook his head in disgust and took an oversized bite of his plain cheese sandwich.

"So you're in for tonight then, right?" Lee asked Hermione.

"Big sale," Fred said.

"Fifty percent off for our preferred customers," George added.

"I've never been a customer," Hermione pointed out.

"True," George conceded.

"But we'd _prefer_ you were," Fred added, proud of his wit as he and Lee gave each other high fives.

"Regardless," Hermione went on with a roll of her eyes. "I'd rather not put myself in a position to get expelled."

"Not to worry," Fred assured, leaning in and winking. "We've got that well covered, as you know."

Hermione shook her head with a roll of her eyes. Of course, she knew. And it was apparent to her that Fred and George were enjoying the fact they had an ally within the Inquisitorial Squad.

"How 'bout you, Harry?" Lee moved on.

"I don't know," Harry answered honestly. "Maybe I'll stop by."

"Extra special discounts for our primary investor," Fred offered.

Harry shrugged it off, smiling uncomfortably. Hermione knew that it was a touchy subject for Harry. He had given his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament to the Weasley twins to start up their joke shop enterprise. However, the cost of the winnings still haunted him.

Lunch continued on as usual. As everyone began to break away for the rest of the day, Hermione caught a quick glimpse of Killian as he headed in the opposite direction towards the dungeons. She smiled to herself as Fred and George bid her a unison farewell. They, along with Lee Jordan, were certain to skip their afternoon classes to prepare for the evening's events.

 _Boys_ , she thought with a sigh as she, Harry, and Ron headed off to class.

. . .

As evening fell across the landscape, Hermione found herself reading in the library. She had just received the last minute instructions to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes via the special chocolate frog trading cards that were being distributed to invitees. Ron had helped himself to the frog, but she managed to pocket the card before it ended up in the Gryffindor fireplace with the discarded box.

Contemplating the ramifications, she tried to convince herself to stay in the library and continue her studying. OWLs were just around the corner and she had wasted so much time already. It was what she should do. It was what she needed to do. Or was it? What did she need? She argued with the voices in her head. Logic versus emotion. Everyone knows how that plays out. She needed to see him. She needed to get it off her chest.

She collected her books and made her way to the Gryffindor common room. She certainly was not going to drag everything with her. Sitting on the couch facing the hearth, she pulled out the card from her chocolate frog. It was an Alberic Grunnion. Nothing fancy.

She flipped the card over and pulled out her wand. " _Aparecium_."

Almost immediately, the hidden Weasley message appeared, written in poor penmanship across the back of the card. Simple instructions.

 _Go to the southeastern exit of the castle and wait for your escort. Gits and nutters beware!_

 _Makes sense_ , Hermione thought. Southeastern exit. Follow that path and it will take you straight to the boathouse. That was where he would be.

Hermione took that deep breath that had become synonymous with her decisions to go against her better judgment as of late. She then made her way out of the Gryffindor common room and down towards the area indicated by the trading card.

When she reached the southeastern exit, she stopped and looked about. She was a bit surprised to find she was the only one there. She had anticipated there would be droves of students all pushing their way through to be the first in line to purchase one form of contraband or another. After a minute or so, she was ready to turn back and return to the dorms when she heard a scurrying sound outside on the walk. Squinting as she searched for the source of the noise, she saw Thomas bounding towards her.

"You're the escort?" Hermione asked as the wiry ferret twitched and spun about at her feet. "You _are_ quite clever, aren't you?"

Thomas scurried back towards the direction from whence he came. Hermione, although feeling a bit odd following a ferret, did so at a brisk pace. For such a small creature, Thomas covered ground rather quickly. He led her around the side of castle towards the long set of stone steps that wound and turned down towards the boathouse off the Black Lake.

As she approached, Hermione saw Killian standing near the top of the steps talking with, of all people, Harry. She continued on, somewhat concerned as to what they could possibly be discussing. It did not take long for her presence to be noticed.

"Hey Hermione," Harry greeted warmly.

"Hi Harry," Hermione returned as Thomas scurried away to seek another student to escort. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I suppose," Harry answered. "Checking out the grand reopening."

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked.

"Reading, actually," Harry said. "Or trying to, at any rate. You know how he is with books and all that."

Hermione and Harry stood there for a moment, neither of them saying a word. Hermione's eyes danced about as she struggled to find a topic of conversation or some other means of lightening the air that seemed to be hanging heavy in that particular area of the castle.

"Well, listen," Harry finally said. "I'm going to head down. Good talking to you, Finn," he said as he offered his hand to Killian.

Killian smiled and gave Harry's hand a firm shake. "The same, Potter."

"See you down there?" Harry asked of Hermione.

"I'll be down in a moment," she answered.

Harry's eyes bounced between Hermione and Killian for a second before he nodded with a smile and made his way down the stone steps. To Hermione's surprise, once Harry reached the stone arch that covered the middle tier of the steps, he vanished.

"He Disapparated!" Hermione gasped. "That's impossible!"

"Entirely impossible," Killian agreed. "He didn't Disapparate. There's a barrier charm on archway," he explained. "You cannot see anything that's happening beyond the barrier and no sound escapes from within."

Disbelieving such a charm was possible, Hermione walked down towards the stone arch and cautiously leaned through. Once her head had crossed the barrier, she saw that the dock and boathouse were filled with students laughing and carrying on as they bought merchandise through Lee Jordan while watching Fred and George demonstrate some of their new items.

Thoroughly impressed, she pulled herself back beyond the archway and found it as though someone had simply turned off the sound. The dock and boathouse seemed deserted, and the only sound she heard was the familiar cackles of various nocturnal creatures in the surrounding area.

"This is quite ingenious," Hermione complimented.

"I'm afraid I cannot take credit," Killian admitted. "It was Fred and George's doing. They're much more skilled than they let on. And apparently they are looking to cause a bit of trouble. Not happy with the current administration as I understand," he added with a coy grin.

Killian leaned up against the stone railing that bordered the area surrounding the steps as Hermione made her way back up.

"So what were you and Harry talking about?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Killian grinned, rubbing the back of his quill-scarred hand. "We were comparing penmanship."

It was stupid of her to ask. Of course he was not going to tell her what they were talking about. Especially not if he knew she wanted to know. Still, Hermione was not sure how comfortable she was with the conversation, whatever it was about. It seemed almost as though her two worlds were colliding. Fred, George, and Luna were one thing. With Harry, as well as Ron to a certain extent … Hermione preferred them to be separate.

"What brings you out this evening?" Killian asked. "I know you're not here to shop."

Hermione smiled as she leaned on the stone bannister beside Killian. "I got your flower."

"What flower?" Killian teased.

"Don't be an idiot," Hermione said. "It was very sweet."

"You came all the way down here to tell me that?" Killian asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione walked away from Killian, looking at the night sky, trying to find the right words. Although her back was to him, she knew he was staring at her quizzically. She could feel his eyes upon her, his stance displaying that familiar tilt of his head as he pondered her intentions.

"Is there something wrong?" he predictably asked.

She turned back, wringing her hands nervously. Killian stood there, waiting for some form of response. She had to pick the right words.

"I want …" she started before rethinking her verbiage.

"You want what?" Killian asked, awaiting Hermione's conclusion. "A book? A quiet place to be alone with your thoughts? The definition of _mostly harmless_? Incidentally, I've recently learned—"

"You," Hermione finally blurted.

 _Damn_ , she thought the instant the words escaped her lips. That came out entirely wrong and she knew it was about to be tossed back at her.

"You want me?" Killian laughed. "Well, that is quite flattering. But as you can see, I'm working."

At least he had turned it into a joke. It would have been terribly awkward if he had taken it any other way. Regardless, the tension had fallen away and Hermione, oddly enough, felt much more comfortable.

"Oh, shut up," she huffed as she walked back towards Killian. "I want another shot at you."

"Another shot at me?" Killian echoed, an uncharacteristic expression of confusion emerging in his face. "Is there some sort of title here that I'm unaware of?"

"I want to duel you," Hermione persisted. "A real duel. I want to see everything you have."

"Why?" Killian asked, more perplexed than before. "What purpose would it serve?"

Hermione advanced upon Killian, eyeing him with a sudden drive of adrenaline. What purpose _would_ it serve? She did not have a good answer. She knew she wanted it. She needed to have it, to experience it, to prove it to herself.

"There are five Slytherins who will never forget the day they crossed you," she said, attempting to play on Killian's ego. "I want to know what that feels like."

"There were more than five," Killian began, indulging in Hermione's implied compliment, "as irrelevant as that is. Why in the world would you want to know what that feels like?" he continued, his tone deepening.

"I want to experience it," Hermione went on. "I want you to show me, to teach me."

"You already have a teacher," Killian pointed out. "A great one, as you've said."

"Harry is a great teacher," Hermione conceded. "But he can't teach me what you know, can he?"

The last point was much more a statement that a question. Killian looked as though he was going to respond, more than likely in a manner that Hermione wished to hear. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, his attention was suddenly drawn to the stone floor by Hermione's feet.

Looking down, Hermione saw Thomas scurrying about. Killian bent to his knee and picked Thomas up as the fidgety ferret clicked and squeaked.

"Malfoy and Umbridge are coming," Killian whispered to Hermione.

"You can understand him?" Hermione asked.

"No, Hermione," Killian answered with a drawling, sarcastic tone. "Thomas is a ferret. He cannot speak. I can, however, see quite well."

Spinning around, Hermione saw Draco and Professor Umbridge, decked in her bright pink knitted shawl, approaching. Under ordinary circumstances, the sight of Professor Umbridge had the effect of turning Hermione's stomach. Seeing Umbridge under the current circumstances, however, was much more like having her stomach ripped entirely from her abdomen.

Hermione turned back to Killian and saw he had his wand drawn and at the ready, pointed directly at her. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening with disheartening shock.

"Trust me," he said with a wink.

Hermione did not have time to decide one way or the other. Umbridge and Draco closed in quickly as thoughts echoed through her mind, her subconscious desperately attempting to convince her of something she doubted. _He's not a Slytherin, he's not a Slytherin, he's not a Slytherin._

"There's one of them!" Draco announced, pointing at Hermione with his wand. "I told you I'd find them."

As they drew nearer, Hermione saw that Draco's face was singed and blackened, his eyebrows nearly seared off. She knew at once he must have confiscated one of the trading cards distributed by way of the chocolate frogs. She had assumed there was some form of jinx placed on the card to prevent any unwanted readers from procuring the message. Even caught within her current predicament, she could not help but smile with amusement.

" _You'd_ find them? I don't believe _you've_ found anything," Killian scoffed at Draco's liberties. "And what happened to your face?"

"Think it's funny, do you?" Draco snapped before Professor Umbridge raised her hand to silence him, her sickeningly sweet smile beaming across her face.

"And what, exactly," she asked in her petite voice, "do we have here, Mr. Finn?"

"I had heard rumors the Weasley twins were attempting to set up shop in the boathouse this evening," Killian explained, his wand still on Hermione. "I came down here to investigate on behalf of the Inquisitorial Squad," he added with mock nod.

"And?" Professor Umbridge pressed. "What did you find?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid," Killian answered. He gestured to the serene waters of the Black Lake and the seemingly deserted boathouse. "It appears the rumors were merely a clever ruse."

Professor Umbridge looked to be processing Killian's information as she glanced down at the boathouse with narrowing eyes. Hermione's nerves were racing. How could he be so calm? How could he be smiling?

"And who is this?" Professor Umbridge asked, looking Hermione up and down with her judging eyes and almost repugnantly pleasant mannerisms.

Hermione knew it was unlikely that Hogwarts' newly appointed Headmistress did not recognize her. Being that she and Professor Umbridge had crossed proverbial swords within the classroom on more than one occasion, it was also improbable the Ministry's representative had forgotten her name, as well. No, this was about power and control. She knew Hermione's name. The bitter, politically obedient woman simply would not give a Muggle-born such as Hermione the respect of speaking it.

"Hermione Granger," Draco said with disgust. "A Gryffindor."

"A Gryffindor?" Umbridge sang. "And why would a Gryffindor be out of the Gryffindor dormitory at this hour?"

"Studying," Killian said. "Needed to get some air, or so she says."

"And you believed her?" Umbridge asked, batting her eyes and smiling, her eyes still fixed on Hermione.

"No," Killian answered. "I believed she was looking for the Weasleys. But after interrogating her, even to the point of offering to reduce the amount of House points deducted, she remained true to her story. I was actually in the process of taking one hundred points from Gryffindor when you arrived."

"One hundred?" Hermione gasped as she spun around on Killian.

"It could have been fifty, if you had the information I was looking for," Killian reiterated, grinning broadly.

Hermione was furious. It took every bit of her resolve not to slap the smirk off Killian's face right then and there. He was playing the part, she understood that. She also knew very well that he was truly enjoying every moment of it.

"Do you have any information that would be of use?" Umbridge asked sweetly of Hermione. "I could still credit a portion of your penalty back to your House."

"I don't know anything about the Weasleys setting up anything," Hermione lied, and rather convincingly at that. "I went for a walk. I've been stressed about my OWLs and I needed to clear my head."

"Studying is important," Umbridge said condescendingly as she patted Hermione on the shoulder. "But rules are important as well. Mr. Finn," she directed towards Killian. "You've inspected the boathouse thoroughly?"

"Inside and out," Killian lied, equally as convincingly as Hermione. "Nothing is out of place."

"Still …" Umbridge pondered. "A second set of eyes wouldn't hurt. Mr. Malfoy—" she gestured to Draco—"go down and have a look. Every detail is important."

For the first time, Hermione saw a twinge of concern arise in Killian's eyes. Draco, eager to please, began bounding down the stone steps. As he approached the archway, Hermione thought she saw Killian's hand clench down on his wand.

"Professor Umbridge," came Professor McGonagall's voice as she and Professor Snape approached from the castle, much to the relief of Hermione.

Umbridge spun about, her smile unchanged as Draco paused just shy of the archway.

"Monitoring the grounds, I see," the grandmotherly headmistress went on. "A lovely night for it."

"Professor McGonagall," Umbridge sang. "And what can I do for you?"

Professor Snape appeared to be biting his tongue, the distaste for Umbridge that Killian spoke of disallowing the Potions master to even make eye contact with the woman. Hermione looked down, forcing back a smile as she mused, once again, over their common ground on the matter.

McGonagall glanced about the area, feigning interest. "Have we discovered anything?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Finn discovered rumors the Weasley twins were setting up shop in the boathouse," Umbridge explained.

"And?" McGonagall asked, looking down at the boathouse. "I see nothing at the boathouse. It appears that these rumors were a red herring of a sort, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Finn?"

"Yes, Professor," Killian answered, in an oddly respectful tone that Hermione did not recognize. "That was my conclusion, as well. However, Professor Umbridge thought it wise to double-check my assertions."

"I believe that we can all see from here that the boathouse is not playing host to a gaggle of students investing their coin in less than practical novelties," Snape spoke up with a tone of dismissive conclusion. "So, seeing as though that matter appears to be settled, I think that you can retire to your dorm, Mr. Malfoy. No need to waste any more time chasing shadows in the night."

Draco looked at the Head of Slytherin House with an expression of doubt, as if asking for reconsideration and permission to continue down to the boathouse. Snape, instead, gave a curt gesture with his head, indicating his statement was less an opinion and more a direct order. Scowling at Hermione, Draco made his way up the steps and headed back inside the castle.

"Out for a stroll, are we?" Snape asked of Hermione with narrowing eyes glancing back and forth between her and Killian.

"Mr. Finn caught this one out of dorms after hours," Umbridge explained proudly.

"I'm certain he did," Snape drawled. "Exemplary work."

Hermione could see the wheels turning in Snape's head. If he was anything, it surely was not stupid. Luckily, however, as with the last time she had been caught by their Potions master, Hermione had the luxury of being with Killian. Snape was not going to allow his House to be penalized, even if it meant allowing a Gryffindor to get away with lies.

"Well done, Mr. Finn," Professor McGonagall commended, her sarcasm as subtle as being struck in the face with an iron bludger. "I believe it is your duty as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad to escort Ms. Granger back to the Gryffindor tower to ensure she is not wandering the halls. Professor Umbridge?" she went on with feigned niceties that could not have been more ingenious. "I should actually like to have a word with you regarding a certain Educational Decree number 29 that has been proposed by Mr. Filtch."

"I would certainly enjoy entertaining such a conversation," Umbridge obliged.

Hermione could feel the contempt breeding between the two of them. It hung in the air so thick, one could almost reach out and feel it against their skin. Professor Snape glanced at Killian and gave him a sharp nod indicating that now was the time to leave. Without a word, Killian grabbed Hermione by the arm, which she did not appreciate at all, and led her back into the castle.

Once inside, Killian released his grip. Hermione immediately turned and slugged him in the shoulder with everything she could muster.

"One hundred points?" she shouted.

"I had to make it believable," Killian defended, smiling and rubbing his shoulder. "It worked out well enough."

"Easy for you to say," Hermione huffed. "So what happens with the boathouse? You're not there to watch. What happens if Professor Umbridge comes back?"

"I drew a barrier line around my post," Killian explained. "Once I crossed it, it sent a signal to Fred and George that something had gone wrong. At this point, I'm sure they've closed up shop and are just waiting for the area to clear before heading out. That one, incidentally," he added with a wink, "was my idea."

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. The rest of the walk was simply idle banter, mostly involving Killian being struck for any number of smart remarks. As they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione paused and looked, glancing between the floor tiles and Killian, shifting from one foot to the other with her arms folded to mask her sudden and inexplicable insecurity.

"I was serious, you know," she said.

"About what?" Killian asked, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation Hermione had begun by the steps to the boathouse.

"About the duel," she answered.

Killian looked at Hermione, quietly staring, his eyes flinching ever so slightly, unnoticeable had Hermione not been staring right back at him. It was as if he was trying to read her, trying to get inside her head. She would have looked away if not for the fact that she was trying to do the same.

"All right," he finally agreed. His tone seemed oddly regretful. This, however, was not going to dissuade Hermione.

"When?" she asked with a smile.

"I don't know?" Killian answered with a shrug.

"That's not a specific enough answer," Hermione argued.

"Technically," Killian corrected, "it was not a specific answer at all."

"All the more reason I don't like it," Hermione said, readjusting her folded arms and cocking her head.

Killian sighed, almost growling with a low rolling groan. He then began to run his forehead just above his eyes, taking several deep and contemplative breaths.

"All right," he finally agreed. "End of the week?"

"Evening?" Hermione asked, still looking for specifics Killian was reluctant to offer.

"Yes," Killian answered. "But late … After dinner. Wait until everyone has begun to settle in their common rooms. The less who are about, the better. We can meet outside near—"

"No, not outside," Hermione agreed. "Professor Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad will be paroling everywhere looking for excuses to take points from students."

Killian hesitated before responding. To Hermione's shock, his almost alarmingly admirable skill of masking his thoughts and emotions failed him entirely. It was beyond subtle, barely evident. It would not have been evident to anyone else. Hermione believed this without a doubt. But she could see it. It was in his stance, in his face, in his eyes.

Killian's suggestion to meet outside the castle was deliberate. He knew of the patrols by Professor Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad. After all, he was a member of her makeshift band of obedient followers himself, albeit reluctantly. He knew it likely he and Hermione would be caught if they attempted to leave the castle at night again. Now, more than ever, with the Fred and George having run their joke shop right under the new Headmaster's nose. And that is why he suggested the location. It was a purposeful plan, a sacrifice of getting caught to deter Hermione's desire for her rematch. She would not let that happen.

"And what do you suggest?" Killian finally asked.

"I know a place," Hermione answered, mimicking Killian's characteristically arrogant grin.

"Dare I ask?" Killian went on.

"Dare as you please," Hermione quipped, turning her nose in the air in playful jest. "I will let you know in time."

Killian laughed under his breath. Whether it was sincere or simply covering frustration, Hermione could not be certain. His seemingly growing desire to avoid another go with Hermione only further fueled her desire to do so.

"Don't even try to back out," she warned.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Killian promised as he presented Hermione with a noble bow. "Goodnight, Hermione Granger."

"Goodnight, Killian …"

Killian turned and left, leaving Hermione awaiting entrance before the painting of the Fat Lady. She remained there for a moment, pondering as a thousand thoughts poured through her mind all at once. The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare of change. A new regime had taken over Hogwarts. Any harmony within the school hung precariously out of balance. In all of that, two of Hermione's world had possible collided that evening, a matter that could result in consequences Hermione not dare ponder at the moment. In all of that, however, there was a spark. A faint, yet somehow glimmering shadow of felicity.

" _Evening Daffodils_ ," she said.

The painting silently opened with a broad swing, allowing Hermione entrance to the Gryffindor tower before swinging closed behind her. She now had her second chance. She would sleep well that night.


	13. Chapter 13 - Passion and Control

_Another day, another chapter. Just what I needed after the day I've had. I tell you, be it the super moon or something in the water, today the crazies came out en masse. But the work day is over and now I can relax. Oh yeah, and post this chapter. That too._

 _Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Thirteen -_

 _Passion and Control_

The tidal waves of emotional polar opposites continued over the next several days.

Feeling that formal education was not exactly what they had envisioned for themselves, Fred and George had dropped out of Hogwarts. Their floating joke shop turned out to be nothing more than a one-time extravaganza, defying the new regime right under their noses. That is not to say they did not leave a few loving reminders of their presence on their way out, of course. It was an event of proportions so great, and growing ever larger with each retelling, it would no doubt belong to Hogwarts' lore for generations to come.

Harry's Occulemency classes had come to an abrupt and complete halt when Harry had taken too much of a liberty in looking into Professor Snape's memories within the Pensive whilst said professor was distracted with other business.

Harry and Hermione had finally discovered the source of Hagrid's reoccurring injuries. It was not some sort of jinx of curse, as they had previously pondered. Instead, it was his brother, Grawp. Half-brother to be more precise.

As it turned out, Hagrid's mother had another son amongst the giants. In Hagrid's attempt to unify them with the Order of the Phoenix, he came across his kin, treated as an outsider due to his lack of size. Such a thought was astounding to Hermione, as Grawp was nothing short of tremendous in stature comparative to any living beast she had ever seen, short of a dragon and the Basilisk.

While related and bound by blood, however, Grawp was wild and dangerous. Regardless of Hagrid's tender attempts to help his brother, the tiny giant was not adjusting well to life in the Forbidden Forest, often taking his frustration out on his even smaller half-giant sibling.

But there was a ray of light amidst the dark clouds that hung low over the school as of late. At least for Gryffindor House. Gryffindor, against all odds, managed to pull off a victory against Cho Chang and Ravenclaw House in their final Quiddich match of the year. This left Ron in a state of euphoria, having been dealt a number of blows to his ego for his lack of skilled play over the course of the season. While Hermione still believed it to be a silly thing to become so invested emotionally or otherwise, she was happy to see Ron have a moment to celebrate. Even Harry, whom Hermione was certain felt the sting of not having been able to participate, seemed to shake off the anger and appreciate the event for both what it was and what it meant.

At the moment, however, there was a period of calm between storms. A brief juncture when Hermione was able to find the time to convince Killian to keep his word. A time for her rematch. And while Killian had already made several excuses to push off said demonstration of dueling prowess, all of which seemed perfectly acceptable, there were none left to be had.

As Hermione stood across from Killian, the Room of Requirement seemed much quieter than it had been over the last several months. Dumbledore's Army was gone. Dumbledore, himself, had vanished from Hogwarts, as well. A darkness had fallen over the castle, mirrored in the cold empty confines of their once furtive haven from Professor Umbridge and her oppressive reign as High Inquisitor.

The OWLs and NEWTs were to begin the next morning. As such, Hermione wrestled with the thought she ought to be studying, but pushed the desire aside. Killian had agreed to meet this night. There was no way she was going to allow him to dismiss it again.

Killian's expression, oddly, was one of restrained contemplation. Hermione could sense he did not want to be there. And while she did not entirely understand as to why, at the moment, she did not care. He made a promise and she intended on holding him to it.

"I'm ready when you are, Professor," Hermione teased.

"Don't call me that," Killian said, entirely unamused. "Interesting choice of location," he added, looking about. "A bit risky, being that Umbridge is now aware of its existence."

"I rather doubt that she has any interest in this place anymore," Hermione said with a hint of frustration. "Aside from that, Educational Decree number 24 specifically defines a group as consisting of three or more students. At my count, I see only two. Let her find us. We're well within her precious rules."

"Well, that was a bit snippy, wasn't it?" Killian pointed out with a grin, the first Hermione had seen since they entered the Room of Requirement.

Verbal needling aside, Hermione could see her point was not lost on Killian. However, he still had not drawn his wand. Furthermore, Hermione noticed, even from the distance and poor lighting the Room of Requirement provided, that he was gritting his teeth.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she prodded, her wand at the ready.

Reluctantly, Killian finally drew his wand, twirling it in his fingers by his side. His eyes narrowed, focused. With a deep breath, he took his place.

"Very well," he conceded. "On your mark."

There was a great amount of tension in face. Hermione could almost feel it. She and Killian eyed each other for a moment before Hermione made her move.

" _Stupefy_!" she commanded, taking the same approach as the last time they had squared off.

Much to Hermione's frustration, Killian also took the same approach, simply deflecting the spell with no counter attack. Hermione cast several more offensive spells, but Killian did little beyond avoiding, absorbing, or deflecting them. Fury burned through Hermione's very core as she stormed across the room in a rage.

"You lied to me!" she screamed, her face inches from Killian's.

Killian evaded Hermione's eyes, instead looking off towards the walls, ceiling, or any other direction that suited his avoidance. It appeared as though he wanted to say something but was making his best efforts to bite his tongue—a truly arduous task.

"You said you would try!" Hermione continued, uncharacteristically losing her temper and pushing at Killian. "You promised me!"

"Why do you want to _do_ this?" he shouted, an action as equally uncharacteristic as Hermione's.

"Why don't _you_?" Hermione shot back, unwilling to let go of her anger.

"Because ..." Killian began, then stopped, searching for the right words. "Because I'm not a teacher!" he finally went on. "You already have one! Go run off to him for your Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

Hermione was absolutely certain that was not what Killian had initially intended to say. She could see it in his eyes. There was something more. There was something he was not telling her. A part of her wanted to believe he simply did not wish to hurt her. He had said as much the previous time they crossed wands in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. However, while that may have been true to some degree, Hermione could sense there was something far greater weighing upon him.

"That's just it," she went on. "Harry is teaching us all how to _defend_ against the Dark Arts! I've learned defense! Teach me to attack!"

"Are you mad? You don't need to attack!" Killian argued. "All you need to do is defend! Defend and run! You have no place attacking! None of you do!"

"Would you run?" Hermione shouted.

Her question silenced Killian right where he stood. Their eyes met without anger, the tense emotion washing away as her Slytherin resurfaced, recognizable once again in the person standing before her. Even so, Hermione knew she had hit a nerve. There was no way Killian would lie to her. Not about this. He would never run. His ego would never allow for it. Now that she had talked him into a corner, he did not even need to respond.

"Don't ask me to do something that you're not willing to do yourself," Hermione said, taking a deep breath as she cleansed her thoughts and took a step back from Killian. "Teach me."

"You don't want this," Killian said, lowering his head, his eyes on the floor.

Again, there was an unfamiliar look about him that Hermione could not place. Like his anger before, this appearance of hesitation, the lack of confidence … It did not suit him well at all. Even as Hermione's own hesitation began to swell, she could not relinquish her desire to know more.

"Yes, I do," she assured with as much confidence as she could muster.

Killian stared at Hermione for a moment. She wondered why he was so hesitant. Was he afraid of being bested by her? He was arrogant, but she thought him better than that. With a deep and thoughtful sigh, Killian proceeded to unbutton his shirtsleeves and loosen his tie, much like he did during their first duel in the woods.

"Passion and control," he said.

"What?" Hermione asked quizzically.

"That is the root of everything," Killian explained, refusing to look at Hermione. "Defensive spells, offensive attacks, every cast is reflective of the passions flowing through the caster. I assume Harry has taught you how to conjure up your Patronus."

"Yes," Hermione said.

"And how is it conjured?" Killian asked.

"The Patronus Charm," Hermione answered.

"Forget the charm!" Killian blasted. "Anyone can say the words! Not everyone can conjure a Patronus! How is it achieved?"

"A happy thought," Hermione began cautiously. "The happiest thought you can think of. Then it manifests itself in your Patronus."

"Exactly," Killian agreed. "And while that works wonders for conjuring a Patronus for your defense, happy thoughts will do very little _against_ your enemy. Pain, anger, fire burning within your soul—these are the allies of your attack. Control them, and they will serve you. Do not, and they will control you. Passion and control. There must be a balance."

Hermione felt the back of her neck tingle as Killian paced back and forth, still refusing to make eye contact with her. She had never heard him speak in such a manner. There was reluctance in his voice so deep and reaching it almost made Hermione want to stop. Her eagerness, now bordering on an insatiable thirst, to experience what Killian knew was the only thing that pressed her on.

"Raise your wand," Killian directed as he finally acknowledged Hermione with his eyes. "Cast."

"Cast what?" Hermione asked as she cautiously followed Killian's instruction.

"It doesn't matter," Killian answered.

" _Stupefy_!" she commanded unimaginatively.

Hermione watched as Killian deflected the spell with a simple wave of his wand. His expression remained stone-faced, the dim lights and flickering candles defining his features and hollowing the shadows of his eyes.

"You'll have to do better than that," he said.

Hermione cast again to the same effect. Several more followed, each one being deflected as though they were butterflies floating in a breeze being and being preyed upon by a viper hiding in the reeds. She began to doubt herself, a sense of unworthiness rolling throughout her consciousness. As her confidence continued to wane, she had a sudden longing for Killian's infuriating grin, his antagonistic comments, anything other than the personification of emotional vacancy who stood across from her. At least then, she would recognize him again.

"Why aren't you attacking?" Hermione exasperated as yet another cast was deflected away harmlessly.

"Because you do not pose a threat to me," Killian answered coldly. "Use your emotions, your anger! Fear and compassion will only weaken your attack."

She cast again, only to find her spell tossed aside. She did not feel angry, she felt inadequate. She saw Killian standing at the other side of the room, looking at her as though she were from another class of existence not suited to be in his presence. It was a horrible feeling, overtaking her senses, causing her casts to become errant and inefficient even in the most basic sense.

"It's not working," she cried, her feelings of failure pushing her to tears. "I can't ..."

"That ..." Killian said as he swatted away another of Hermione's casts, "is because ..." He paused, closing his eyes for a moment before returning his cold gaze upon Hermione. " ... You are weak, you _filthy_ little Mudblood."

Something snapped. Hermione felt a sudden and overwhelming rage arise within her. How could he say that? After everything that had happened between them? How could he? She straightened up and directed her wand at Killian, who stood at the ready.

" _Stupefy_!" she cried, her voice wavering with mixed emotions of anger and pain.

It was the same cast that she had thrown a dozen times or more already. This time, Killian could not deflect it away as easily, his Shielding Spell forcing him back as if he had been delivered a raucous body blow.

How could he?

" _Stupefy_!" she cast again as Killian deflected it with noticeably more effort involved.

Dumbledore's Army had been disbanded.

" _Stupefy_!"

Dumbledore was gone.

" _Stupefy_!"

It was his fault!

" _Stupefy_!"

He knew where they were meeting!

" _Stupefy_!"

He was supposed to watch out for them!

" _Stupefy_!"

He was supposed to protect them!

" _Stupefy_!"

He was supposed to protect _her_!

" _Impedimentia_!" Hermione shouted with relentless fury.

Killian, who had been bombarded with the last several casts, could not get his shield up in time and resorted to attempting a counter-jinx. The energies from their wands met in the center of the room, sending bolts of electricity and waves of energy crashing about the duelists, shattering the mirrors on the walls and trembling the foundation pillars.

Hermione, now burning with unrivaled ferocity, leaned in on her cast as Killian planted his feet, bracing himself from the barrage of energy that was being thrust upon him. His hair had come free from its neat tail and now flailed about as if caught in a windstorm.

Slowly, the balance of energies began to shift. Killian was forced to one knee in an attempt to gain leverage. Hermione feel the power pulsing through her veins as she slowly, mercilessly drained away his defenses. Suddenly, with a violent sweep, Killian succeeded in casting off Hermione's jinx, blasting a sizable divot in the solid stone wall beside them. The round was over with Hermione standing, her wand still at the ready, and Killian on his knee, palms to the floor for support.

"E-Enough," he said, breathlessly.

No …

Not enough …

He had failed her!

Hermione's mind felt as though it was no longer her own. The image of a silver _I_ was emblazed in her consciousness, affixed to Killian's Slytherin robes as voices shouted over each other in a violent succession she could not control, bending her will to their own.

 _He's one of_ _them_ _!_

" _Reducto_!" Hermione shouted in a voice that she, herself, did not recognize.

Already fallen, Killian could barely muster a pseudo Shielding Charm before the jinx was upon him. The effort did little to absorb the impact, and Killian was thrust back in a violent explosion that rung throughout the room. His body crashed high and awkward into the far wall before coming to rest on the floor. Hermione simply stood there, glaring at her enemy as he made a weak attempt to get to his feet before crumbling under his own weight. As she raised her wand high, ready to unleash hellfire upon her wretched adversary, a sickening realization overtook her.

"Oh, my God!" she gasped, the rage draining from her body in a sudden burst of clarity.

Killian was making another painful attempt to rise, his shirt torn, blood trickling from an unseen wound somewhere in his hairline. Hermione lowered her wand and rushed over to him, her heart racing. As she attempted to help him to his feet, however, he pushed her hand away.

"Are we satisfied?" he asked, wiping away a stream of blood that had emerged from the corner of his mouth.

"Killian," Hermione started, "I didn't ... I don't know what happened."

"Congratulations," Killian offered grimly, his cold eyes staring at Hermione as if she were a complete stranger to him. "Class dismissed."

With that, he got up and limped his way out of the Room of Requirement, leaving Hermione on the floor to watch him as he left. What had she done? What had happened to her? _Mudblood_. He had not meant it. He would never say such a thing to her. Never. He baited her, trying to bring out her rage—a rage that nearly consumed her.

A horrible feeling ran through Hermione as she sat there on the cold, stone floor. It was like a sickness within her soul. She could not take back what she had done, what she had become. As she absorbed this new reality, a sense of desperation overcame her. She could not let him walk away. She had to fix this. She had to find him and make it _right_ again.

Hermione leapt to her feet and raced out of the Room of Requirement. She knew Killian would be heading back to the Slytherin House. She had to catch him before he got down there. She needed to talk to him, to make him understand, to make things back the way they were.

Hurrying down the steps towards the dungeons, a thousand thoughts raced through Hermione's mind. Killian's expression as he looked up at her. The cold empty tone of his voice. His eyes, which had always smiled at her, now staring through her with an empty icy glare. Her heart felt as though it were being wrenched from her chest.

"Having a bit of a spat, are we?" Draco asked with a sneer as he cut Hermione off in the dungeon passage. "On the outs already?"

"Shut up," Hermione said as she tried to make her way past his intolerable presence. "And get out of the way."

"It doesn't matter," Draco went on. "He's in the common room. You won't be able to see him."

Draco's words fell upon Hermione with a crushing weight. It was as if he had somehow stolen the air from her very lungs. Her emotions had so overtaken her she nearly convinced herself to ask Draco for help, to have him get Killian and bring him back to her. Luckily, she gained enough composure to realize that a favor from Draco was something she could never have on her conscience.

"Although it looks like you've been caught out after hours again," Draco added.

"Go ahead and take points from Gryffindor," Hermione dared as she drew her wand to the ready. "See what happens."

"Sure you want to do that, Granger?" Draco asked with another callous sneer. "You don't have your Killian around to protect you!"

"I don't need any help dealing with you," Hermione snapped back as Draco eyed her wand.

Hermione watched Draco as his eyes twitched nervously. He kept a strong facade, but she knew he was little more than a mouth full of bravado. On his best day, he could not compete with her.

"Lucky for you I'm not allowed," Draco finally conceded, raising a cocky eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked.

"On the orders of my father and Professor Snape," Draco explained, "there are no retaliations allowed against Finn. So I guess that takes you off the table then, doesn't it?"

"Why would your father care about retaliations against Killian?" Hermione asked on, assuming Professor Snape had disallowed it for the benefit of his House.

"Are you serious?" Draco scoffed. "You don't know?"

She did not. With all that had happened already, she was not entirely sure she wanted to know. The way Draco seemed to be relishing the knowledge, it had little chance of being something that would bring a positive turn to her current situation.

"His father and my father are affiliates," Draco informed with an air of supremacy in his tone. "For years."

"You're lying," Hermione snapped.

"I'm not," Draco insisted, his wretched smirk broadening across his face. "I was at his sister's bloody wedding this past summer. Although I think I had a larger presence there than he did, roaming off somewhere just after it started. Not much for formal engagements, is he?"

Hermione tried to rationalize Draco's revelation in her mind. The Finns were Ravenclaws. Killian had told her that the first night they met. The Malfoys were Slytherins. But both families were purebloods. That was all that really mattered to a Slytherin in the end, after all.

"Didn't know any of this, did you?" Draco went on. "Secrets, secrets, secrets. What else has he been keeping from you? I'm sure I can fill you in. We practically grew up together, so there's not much about him that I don't know. Do you want to hear about how much of a disappointment he is to his father?"

"You'd know a lot about being a disappointment, wouldn't you?" Hermione chided.

"My father wasn't summoned for a conference with Professor Umbridge about my refusal to accept a position with the Inquisitorial Squad," Draco pointed out proudly.

"That's because you jumped at the opportunity," Hermione mocked. "Killian has more of a backbone."

Draco face twisted. Hermione thought for a moment that he might actually draw his wand. After a moment of sulking, however, he simply shrugged off her comments with a wave of his hand.

"You're just lucky that you're off the table," he said dismissively. "Why don't you go run along back to the Gryffindor Tower before I change my mind and start hammering points from your house?"

Seeing no better alternative at the moment, Hermione obliged. As she walked along, she felt suddenly alone. She had not known Killian at all. How was this possible? She knew him. She _knew_ him! His father's affiliations had no bearing on his own, did they? Hermione, herself, could not decide one way or the other. She wanted to believe that he was the person she had thought him to be, had _known_ him to be. She could not bear to believe that she had lost him.


	14. Chapter 14 - Innocence Lost

_All right, so this one is a bit shorter. But I prefer to say that it gets to the point in three thousand words or less. Either way, we are getting to the end. Also of note, a few of the lines of dialogue (if you read the books, you will know which ones they are #readthebooksoryou'renotarealfan ... I'm kidding, of course. Read them or don't read them, that is your choice, you have every right to make it, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise_ _) were taken directly from the works of JK Rowling and used for the purposes of this chapter. I don't own, I merely borrow, etcetera as nauseum ... I hope you enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Fourteen -_

 _Innocence Lost_

That night, Hermione did not sleep. Her mind would not allow for it. Horrible nightmares plagued her dreams. Images flashing over and over again. Killian down on his knee, gasping, pleading for mercy as she rained down upon him with relentless rage. Running along dark corridors, hoping against hope to find him before he reached the Slytherin House, surrounded by cloaked figures with deep purple gloves dodging in and out of the shadows. It was a never ending reminder of her actions, actions she could not erase.

Everything had changed in an instant. The simplicity of their complexity was gone. In its place was an actuality of life that, while known, was never attached to them. There was good and bad in everything, in everyone. And this actuality, a demon by its own right, had nearly overwhelmed and shattered Hermione's very will. Only now, as she lay alone with her thoughts, awakened from another subconscious illusion, did she truly appreciate the consequences of her persistent desire to learn what Killian so desperately sought to keep from her. Only now, as her innocence faded away, did she truly understand.

The next morning was agony. OWLs were to begin after breakfast, but Hermione's mind was elsewhere. As she sat in the Great Hall amidst a plethora of foods and various juices, she feigned studying, burying her head in _Achievement in Charming_ and avoiding all conversation entirely.

Across the hall, she stole an occasional glance toward the Slytherin table. This merely fed her feelings of emptiness as Killian made a brief appearance, grabbing a biscuit before exiting without a word. Even from across the hall, Hermione could see the wounds she had left upon him. He had made an attempt to hide them, but they were still visible to anyone who cared to look.

After breakfast, Hermione headed to her first OWL exam. Charms. It would be simple enough. Even with her mental distractions, Charms was a subject of near second nature to her. This was as much a curse as a blessing. The ease of the exam meant that there was little need for concentration. This allowed for her to wallow in her misery over the next two hours until she answered the final question and turned in her parchments.

After Charms, Hermione met up with Harry and Ron in the hope that some simple conversation would offer a distraction.

"Well, it wasn't too bad, was it?" Hermione asked as they walked along. "I'm not sure I did myself justice in the Cheering Charms, I just ran out of time. Did you put in the countercharm for hiccups?" she rambled on without pause. "I wasn't sure whether I ought to; it felt like too much. And on question twenty-three—"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted, "we've been through this before. We're not going though every exam afterward. It's bad enough going through them once."

Hermione had really hoped for something more from Ron. Perhaps she expected too much. It was not as though she could really blame him. Ron was just Ron. He would never be like … Well, he would always be Ron. Hermione just needed something, anything at the moment.

As they continued along towards the Great Hall in silence, Harry gave Hermione a sympathetic glance. She knew he could tell that something was wrong. He did not say anything, but he knew. His simple acknowledgment was enough to give him away.

She had never asked him of what he and Killian spoke of down by the steps leading to the boathouse. She was not entirely certain she wanted to know. If they did not speak of it, perhaps her secret could stay her own.

Although, with Fred, George, and Luna already being very much aware, Harry knowing would cause Hermione the least amount of concern. And Professor Snape knew, as well. And Draco. And who knows how many other Slytherins. The more she thought on it, the more Hermione began to realize that what she believed to be her secret was, in actuality, becoming more of a story that everyone knew but few wished to speak of.

Yet, even in realizing how far reaching the knowledge of her relationship with Killian had become, if said relationship even existed anymore, she still knew it was safely hidden to some degree. Almost hidden in plain sight. The Slytherin House could not speak of it due to the Unbreakable Oath they were all sworn to take. Professor Snape, for the sake of his house, she imagined, was holding his tongue, as well. And Fred, George, and Luna had never so much as uttered a word as far as Hermione knew. So there was some solace in that. Little, but some.

Lunch went the same as breakfast. Although this time, Hermione forced herself to eat something. Regardless of her emotional state, her stomach insisted that it needed some form of nourishment. Even so, several more glances at the Slytherin table left her feeling much the same as before.

The practical portion of the Charms OWL followed lunch. It went as well as Hermione had expected.

After the exam, the rest of the day was a fog. Hermione engaged in conversations with Harry and Ron but could not honestly say what it was they had talked about. It felt as though the world was moving on without her, and she was merely a spectator watching from the outside looking in.

That night in the Gryffindor common room, all the students gathered around and chatted away without a care. Hermione fell into the sofa across from the hearth, flipping mindlessly through her Transfiguration notes.

"Did you see Finn?" came the voice of a third-year boy.

"I saw him," said another. "Saw that knot on his head, too. Got himself into a bit of a tussle, looks like."

"Looks like," the first boy agreed. "Who do you think it was?"

"I dunno," the second said with a laugh. "Anyone missing?"

"Right, that'd give it away, wouldn't it?" the first chortled in return. "You don't think someone bested him, do you?"

"Who cares?" came a third voice from another boy who had joined the conversation. "He's a flippin' Slytherin … And one of Umbridge's gits at that."

Hermione got up from the sofa, seething, as she fought with every ounce of her constitution to hold her tongue. She wished that Fred and George were still there. They would have silenced those insolent third years. They would never have allowed for anyone to speak out against Killian, to speak out against their friend ... Her friend … Her … something.

But they were gone. Fred and George had abandoned their academics in lieu of starting their own joke shop. Hermione now wished she had left with them. As absurd as the idea appeared, it seemed a far simpler path at the moment.

Taking a deep breath to settle her emotions, Hermione left the common room and began to wander the empty halls of Hogwarts. Knowing there was no possible way she could sleep, retiring to the girls' dormitory would be nothing short of pointless. Still, she needed to be away from people. She needed to be away, in general.

Once removed from the bustle of the common room, Hermione found an area in the castle devoid of students and faculty. Believing herself alone, she closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip, and willing herself to release her thoughts and relieve the pressure in her heart that felt like an icy grip tightening further with every rhythmic pulse.

"Miss Granger?" came a voice from above.

Opening her eyes, Hermione saw Nearly Headless Nick hovering a few feet away.

"You're out late," he said. "Still getting in some last minute preparations? Ah, this time of year … All you children stressing your little minds. Almost tortuous to watch."

The tone in the voice of Gryffindor's resident ghost seemed to indicate more amusement than sympathy. But he also appeared to be a distracted as well, so perhaps it was unintentional. It seemed even the undead within the school had things on their minds better suited than what Hermione could not let go.

"No," Hermione answered. "I just needed to get some air."

"Well, you're not likely to get any in here," the spirited specter mused, pulling at his collar, causing his head to tip over and dangle on the side. "Air is so heavy, one can hardly breath. Or so I hear," he added with a silly grin that seemed even more ridiculous due to his inverted perspective.

Sadly, Sir Nicolas' attempt to liven her mood did little to sway Hermione. While she appreciated the effort, it simply was not to be. Before she could respond to his gesture, however, Peeves burst through the wall and began bounding back and forth, tipping the paintings on the walls, setting them all askew, much to the contempt of Sir Nicolas.

"You there!" he shouted, pointing wildly as he attempted to corner the pesky poltergeist whilst reapplying his head. "Enough of that!"

 _He screamed, he cried_

 _He spit and spat;_

 _He put a feather in his hat._

 _He squirmed and twisted_

 _Spun around;_

 _But poor Nicky's head just won't fall down._

Even in her current state, Hermione could not help but allow for a smile to creep from the corner of her mouth. As troublesome as Peeves could be, his incessant teasing, particularly of Sir Nicolas and Mr. Filch, had always been a pleasant distraction.

As Sir Nicolas streamed down the corridor in pursuit of Peeves, Hermione's brief release faded away. When silence fell, Hermione was alone and feeling no better off than she had when she left the Gryffindor tower.

Glancing around, she saw a number of sofas that had been placed about the hall, clearly set aside as a temporary study area for the ongoing OWLs and NEWTs. Choosing one adorned with lacey quilts, she flopped down, pressing her face into one of the several large pillows, taking in the scent of the goose feathers mixed with the fragrance of her hair that draped over her face. For several minutes, she lay in lonely quiet, enjoying the solitude and embracing her despair.

"Studying?"

Startled by the unexpected break in the silence, Hermione popped her head up and turned to see Luna standing by the corner of the sofa, clutching an oversized book to her chest while rocking back and forth on her heels.

"What?" she asked.

"Studying," Luna answered. "I do the same thing. Sometimes I get tired of reading the book, so I put my head in a pillow and visualize the pages on the inside of my eyelids. It's not always as accurate, so I have to check my work."

"No," Hermione said. "I just … I'm just …"

"You look awful," Luna said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa.

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione huffed, burying her head back within the comfort of the pillow.

"Did you break something?" Luna asked.

Hermione turned to Luna, dumbfounded, and saw the flighty Ravenclaw glancing aimless off towards the corner of the hall. No doubt she was looking for Nargles or something of the like.

Sighing, and feeling guilty for having though such a mean-spirited thing of Luna, Hermione sat up and tossed the pillow aside. It was not Luna's fault that Hermione felt the way she did. She had done nothing more than come across a fellow student at the wrong time.

"Why would you say that?" she asked.

"I once broke one of my father's eyepieces," Luna explained. "It was one of his favorites. I imagine I looked pretty awful when that happened."

"No," Hermione said, straightening one of the quilts simply to offer her idle hands a task. "Not exactly … I mean I guess I did," she went on. "Sort of."

"Why don't you fix it?" Luna asked.

"I can't," Hermione answered.

"Sure you can," Luna disagreed. "I fixed my father's eyepiece. It was almost like new. Just a little different, is all. Hadn't quite gotten the Mending Charm yet. But I hardly think he even noticed."

"It's not that simple," she explained. "I wouldn't even know how."

Luna stood and hugged her book to her chest again.

"Everything is difficult before you know how to do it," she said with a sweet smile. "But you never learn how until you try."

A moment later, Luna stood and walked off without another word, leaving Hermione bewildered as she watched her classmate disappear around a corner at the end of the hall. Her words, disentangling a convolution of emotions and impossible questions of _what ifs_ and _what could have beens_ , echoed in Hermione's head. Could it be that simple? Did she have even have the courage to try?

More questions … More doubts … It was going to be another long night.

. . .

The following morning, the OWLs continued … And the morning after that and the morning after that and so on. Hermione did her best to stay on task. Even still, she found herself constantly looking over her shoulder, hoping she might find Killian across the hall looking back at her. It was the wish of a fool and, as such, it went unanswered. While she would see Killian in passing most every day, it was as though they were strangers in a crowd … Strangers who averted their eyes and went on without a thought.

Over the next two weeks, the emotions around Hogwarts seemed to mimic those that festered within Hermione. As the OWLs continued, stress levels amongst the fifth years reached a climax. To make matters worse, Professor Umbridge continued to tighten her grip on the student body through further restrictions and regulations.

During the practical portion of their Astronomy OWL exam, the entire class of fifth years witnessed Hagrid being nothing less than assaulted by members of the Ministry. Although Hagrid managed to escape into the Forbidden Forest, it was not before Professor McGonagall was attacked herself while attempting to defend the fleeing half-giant. Everything was falling apart.

The morning after the vicious attack on the grounds outside the Astronomy Tower marked the final day of the OWL exams. The History of Magic. Hermione breezed through the exam with precision, wanting nothing more than to be done with it all. Once finished, she excused herself quietly so as not to disturb the students who continued to scratch away with their quills.

As she exited the Great Hall, she leaned up against the cold stone wall, closing her eyes with a heavy sigh.

 _At least that's over_ , she thought as a drove of students passed by.

Without looking, Hermione turned to head towards the Gryffindor tower. As she did, she slammed directly into the chest of a passing student who seemed as equally distracted and oblivious as Hermione.

Stepping back and looking up, Hermione's heart jumped into her throat as she saw Killian staring back at her. The surprise encounter eliminated the chance to look away and ignore each other. Their eyes were locked.

Hermione's voice was completely lost, not that she had any idea of what to say. She simply looked into Killian's eyes … Looking for an answer … Looking for a sign … Looking for anything.

What she saw, however, was not the confident, arrogant expression she had grown to know. In its place, she saw a flooding sadness. It was a sadness she had never witnessed before, pure and unadulterated. It did not show in his face. No, he was a Slytherin. Any show of emotions was buried behind a stoic facade. It was his eyes that gave him away. His eyes could not hide from her.

As they stood there, mere inches from each other, Hermione begged herself to react, to reach out for him. She could see Killian's hand flex at his side. She knew he was feeling the same conflict within himself. His jaw clenched and released, his mouth opened and closed ever so slightly, but no words came of it.

 _Everything is difficult before you know how to do it …_

In a moment forgoing all thought and reason Hermione reached out and grasped his hand.

"Killian, I—"

Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the Great Hall. Hermione and Killian were pushed aside as the doors swung open and several students rushed out.

"Someone fetch Madam Pomfrey!" one student shouted as the other students in the hall began to gather around the doors.

"What's happened?" asked a curious onlooker, standing high on her toes, trying to look over the students and into the Great Hall.

"It's Potter!" the first student answered. "He's collapsed!"

Hermione gasped at the news. Turning back, her heart sank as she saw that Killian was gone. The fragile sliver of hope had fallen away, lost in the chaos of gawkers and gossip. As before, the wish of a fool, unanswered and forgotten.

Cursing the air, Hermione pushed her personal issues aside. Something was wrong with Harry. For the moment, she and Killian would have to wait.


	15. Chapter 15 - The Serpent and the Lioness

_All good things must come to an end. And as such, here is the end. Death Eaters attack Hogwarts, the castle crumbles to the ground, everyone dies as they're crushed under the rubble. Sort of like Romeo and Juliet with the mass destruction of an atom bomb in place of the poetic subtlety of poison and a dagger. Kidding ... completely kidding. But this is actually the final chapter of the story. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Fifteen -_

 _The Serpent and the Lioness_

The next morning's _Daily Prophet_ reported a story to the entire wizarding world. It was a story that Harry previously had insisted to be true amidst the insults and smear campaigns set against him over the previous year. No longer could Cornelius Fudge trumpet on about wild conspiracies of Albus Dumbledore attempting to undermine and, essentially, usurp his position as the Minister of Magic. Now, the arrogant caitiff was forced to face the fear he had denied since the night Cedric Diggory was slain in the Riddle family cemetery, the night an entire world closed their eyes to reality for fear of what may come. And come it had … Lord Voldemort had returned!

The Dark Lord and his faithful Death Eaters had been foiled, however, in their attempt to obtain the prophecy that Voldemort so desperately yearned to acquire. This was accomplished with the joint efforts of the Order of the Phoenix and the recently reformed DA. The small band was aided with a late assist by Dumbledore himself, whose duel with Voldemort nearly shook the Ministry down to its very foundations.

Unfortunately, with every victory comes a price. The prophecy, although not obtained by Voldemort, was destroyed and existed now only in the minds and memories of those who heard it before it was filed away into the abyss of the Ministry's archives. A far greater loss, however, was the death of Sirius Black at the hands of his deranged cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry had only just begun to know his godfather before he, like Harry's parents, was violently taken away.

Members of DA had their share of casualties as well, though none proved to be fatal. Neville had broken his nose, greatly reducing his ability to cast an effective jinx during the chaotic melee. Luna had suffered minor injuries, but needed little more care than a simple bit of bandaging. Hermione, however, found herself laid up in the hospital wing at Hogwarts for a significant amount of time before she fully recovered from her injuries.

It was three days before the end of the term when Hermione was finally released. She had received many visitors during her extended stay. Ron, of course, visited often, offering her chocolates and candies while further offering to eat any of them she was disinterested in. Several professors, including Dumbledore and, oddly enough, Professor Snape, made appearances. Snape's visits, however, were far less cordial than the rest of the faculty. A simple " _Just checking to see if you're still alive_ ," summed up their conversations.

Even Harry, with everything that must have been going on inside his head, made numerous visits to see her. Still, Hermione felt empty and alone. _He_ never came. Outside from the brief moment of awkwardness outside the Great Hall, there had been nothing between them since that night in the Room of Requirement. If she had only had a moment longer, a fraction of a second. She could see it in his eyes as she grasped his hand, he wished for it as much as she. But fear and uncertainty had built a wall between them. A wall she could not climb alone.

Every night as Hermione lay in bed, alone in the hospital wing, she agonized over the last few weeks since that fateful night in the Room of Requirement. How each day they would sit at their respective tables, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a second, hoping that maybe she would catch a hint of the devilish grin that infuriated her so often before. But it never happened. It never happened, and he never came.

Hermione gathered up her things from the hospital bed and was escorted by Madame Pomfrey back to the Gryffindor Tower. Once there, her peers greeted her with open arms and questions about how she was feeling, what it was like to face off against a Death Eater, and other such questions of which she simply did not care to respond. She went along with it as best as she could, though. After all, it was not their fault. They were curious. How could they not be? How could they know that all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of her life, so that she would not have to feel the pain that was eating away at her?

Harry must have seen it in her face. He came and rescued Hermione from the incessant inquiries that were being thrust upon her. She could not begin to verbalize her appreciation for his gesture. Even with everything that Harry was going through, he was still there for her when she needed him. But then, Harry knew. Harry was clever. Harry was observant. He knew why Hermione was upset. Even Ron, who was neither clever nor observant for the most part, had his suspicions. It simply was not something they would talk about.

That night, the skies rained with a ferocity that mirrored the tempest of emotions swirling about in Hermione's head. As the lightning crashed throughout the heavens, she lay in bed, restless, staring at the canopy of her four-poster bed, hoping for sleep to find her. But sleep would not come. Not that night.

As she lay there, Hermione heard an odd drumming amidst the pouring rains. She actually heard the sound several times before acknowledging it. It was a dull thumping against the glass. At first, she thought it to be nothing more than the torrents of rain pelting against the windowpanes. It was not until Hermione noticed several thumps in succession that she turned her head to investigate.

Outside her window, Hermione saw a fluttering image. Curious, she sat upright as her eyes adjusted to the distance and dim light. Several more tiny thumps came from the window as the fluttering shadow slapped up against the glass. Hermione got up from her bed and crossed the room to the window, carefully opening it so as to keep the rains at bay.

As soon as Hermione opened the window, a rain soaked paper hummingbird, whose beak and face had been mashed flat from its repetitive attempts to tap on the window, greeted her enthusiastically. It fluttered in through the window, spraying water from its wings before turning and folding on itself until it was a soaking wet paper flower. This time, however, the flower failed to waft gently in the wind, instead falling like a stone and slapping down on the windowsill.

Hermione picked up the flower, immediately knowing the significance. She stuck her head out the window and saw Killian standing at the base of Gryffindor Tower in the pouring rain. Hermione's heart nearly burst from her chest as she haphazardly tossed on whatever clothes were nearby.

"What are you doing?" Parvati asked groggily from her bed, her eyes squinted and sleep-ridden.

"Nothing," Hermione dismissed. "I have to get something."

"Now?" Parvati asked.

Hermione raced out of the dorms without answer. Unfortunately, as luck would have it—and poor luck at that—Hermione had the unwelcome pleasure of crossing paths with Professor Snape as she made her way down the steps towards the exit to the courtyard.

"Going somewhere?" he questioned, looking spitefully down his nose at Hermione.

"I was just," Hermione began. "I was…" she began again. No excuse could come to her. Her mind was already past the Potion's master and in the courtyard.

Snape's eyes then found the rain soaked flower in Hermione's hand. His glare danced between the flower and Hermione's lost expression several times as she babbled through some form of lie or another.

"On your way to the library, perhaps?" he suggested dismissively.

Hermione was taken aback. She thought for certain the next words from Snape's mouth would involve the deduction of points from Gryffindor, although it was quite possible there were no points left to spare. Hermione stared at Snape for a moment, wondering whether it was some form of deception on his part.

"Yes," she finally agreed, cautiously.

Snape cast another quick glance at the flower before sweeping past Hermione and continuing on his way.

"Mind the time," he warned curtly.

What had just happened? Hermione was certain she did not care at the moment. Still, though, how odd? But now was not the time. There would be other times to ponder the significance of the odd occurrence. Hermione mentally shrugged off her encounter with Professor Snape and raced toward the exit to the courtyard.

Outside, the rains were still pounding the grounds of Hogwarts. As Hermione stood gazing out into the darkness, she saw Killian emerge from the shadows, looking like a drowned rat in a neat ponytail. He raced to her without saying a word, lifting her in a silent embrace. No words could have expressed it any better. Hermione's clothes began to swell from the rain, but she hardly noticed as she buried her face in his shoulder, refusing to allow for an inch of space between them.

"You never came," she cried, her emotions getting the best of her. "Why didn't you come?"

"I wanted to," Killian said as he kissed her on the forehead, holding her tight. "Professor Snape..." he tried to explain, but lost his words. "Please believe I wanted to."

"I thought…" Hermione began, her voice cracking, "… you were angry… I thought that you hated—"

"Never think that," Killian insisted, looking Hermione in the eyes, his forehead pressed against hers. "Never, ever think that. Every moment that went by… Every excruciating second since…" He paused, his brilliant green eyes piercing Hermione's.

"Killian—"

Before Hermione could utter another sound, Killian cupped her face in his hands, pulling her close, pressing his lips to hers. In an instant, the entire universe fell away.

The pressure of his flesh was overwhelmingly inviting. The taste, the scent, enveloping her senses, washing away a year of angst, doubt, and disbelief. Hermione reached up, her fingers in his hair, on his face, cascading down his chest. She should have felt so uncomfortable, insecure she was doing it improper, unsure of where to put her hands, how to tilt her head. Yet, somehow in this moment of unfamiliar familiarity, nothing had ever felt more natural, nor pure, more right. Like odd pieces found in a long forgotten puzzle box, they fit together perfectly within their embrace. The world around them had gone silent, save for his whisper as his lips grazed her ear.

"My life is as death without you."

Hermione made no attempt to hold back the tears, although they were well hidden amongst the rains that pelted the two of them. Relentless rains... Cleansing rains... Rains that Hermione suddenly became aware of.

"My God!" she laughed as she placed her hand on Killian's cheek. "We're soaked!"

"I don't care," Killian said as he pulled her close again.

"Come out of the rain," Hermione persuaded as she led Killian under the stone canopy.

Shaking the water from their hair and clothes as best they could, Hermione sat on the stone banister. Killian stood in front of her, looking Hermione over as if he had not seen her in years, rememorizing every feature of her face and curve of her body.

"What were you thinking?" he asked. "You could have been killed. All of you."

"We weren't thinking," Hermione admitted. "It all happened so fast, we didn't know what to do. It seemed right at the time."

"Why didn't you come to me?" Killian went on.

"We hadn't spoken in so long," Hermione answered, her eyes swelling once again as her words reminded her of the awful emptiness she had felt. "You were avoiding me. I just… I didn't know what to think."

Killian took Hermione's hand, interlacing his fingers through hers.

"I'm sorry," he began, only the second time Hermione had ever heard him apologize for anything. "I was a fool… I was afraid…"

"Afraid?" Hermione asked, thrown off by Killian's admission of weakness. "Afraid of what?"

"Afraid … " Killian paused uncomfortably. The tension and emotion in his face was so evident and foreign. "I was afraid I'd _ruined_ you," he finally answered as he gently smoothed what could have been a tear or simply droplet of water from Hermione's cheek. "That night, in the Room of Requirement… The look in your eyes… I should never have…" He cut off, having great difficulty completing his thought.

But it did not matter. Hermione knew what he was trying to say. She remembered the burning rage that had pulsed through her as she stood above Killian's crumpled body in the Room of Requirement. She remembered the overwhelming desire to hurt him, to destroy him. She remembered, even more vividly, the horrible aftermath as the realization of what she had done set in. She remembered her desperate desire to erase what had happened and the helplessness she felt knowing it would be impossible to do so. Killian knew the demons that Hermione now carried with her. He had tried to protect her from that. She just would not listen.

For several moments, they remained there, listening to the rain as it drummed the grounds around them, content with the simple sounds nature so graciously provided. But Hermione still had something pressing on her mind. She wrestled back and forth with it before coming to the conclusion that it was not something that could be avoided or prolonged.

"Can I ask you something?" Hermione finally asked.

"Anything," Killian conceded.

"Will you promise not to lie?"

Killian laughed, his devilish grin returning. "Ask me something else."

His normally infuriating grin brought such a familiar sense of relief to Hermione that she disregarded his avoidance of her question. She merely put her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest, wanting to feel his warmth. Even as Hermione felt his arms tighten around her and his breath trickle down the back of her neck, she knew could not let it go.

"Is it true that your father is an affiliate of Lucius Malfoy?" she asked, feeling Killian tense in her embrace.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked.

"Draco," Hermione answered.

"Weaselly little ferret," Killian grumbled, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

"Is it true?"

There was a moment's pause as Killian laughed under his breath. Hermione knew him far too well to mistake it for humor over frustration. She could almost feel the strain.

"Yes," he admitted, his arms holding Hermione ever firmly.

"For how long?" she asked on, almost feeling guilty now for her continued persistence.

"I've never known them not to be," Killian answered. "The ties between the Finns and the Malfoys go back generations. All politics and proper social mingling."

One more question. If the Malfoys and the Finns were so deeply connected, there was still one more question that needed to be asked. Hermione closed her eyes, her hands clenching the sides of Killian's shirt as if this simple act could somehow guide his next answer.

"Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater," Hermione went on, cringing as she contemplated what Killian's response to her insinuation might be.

As before, Killian did not respond immediately. This did not seem like a promising indication to Hermione, whose eyes remained closed, waiting. She kept her cheek pressed firmly against his chest, trying to convince herself it would not matter one way or the other.

"My father has done many questionable things," Killian explained, his muscles contracting beneath Hermione's fingers as he struggled through his words. "But that is not one of them."

Killian placed his hand on Hermione's cheek, directing her gaze upwards, connecting with her in the way they always had before.

"And I'm not my father," he assured. "I promise you."

Hermione stared into Killian's eyes. They smiled at her. They did not lie. She trusted him. With a sigh that felt as though it were a lifetime in the making, Hermione released all of the tension and frustration that had embedded itself within her as she replaced her head upon Killian's chest. Nothing more would come between them. Not that night. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor; the _Serpent_ and the _Lioness_ _._ She knew neither what they were nor what they were becoming. All that matter was they were together once again. As far as she was concerned, time could stand still forever.

 _ **the end ...**_

 _ **... to be continued in Sins of the Father**_

 _This concludes this chapter in Hermione and Killian's story. Thank you to everyone who has read thus far. This story actually began as a very short story, only 6 chapters, more of a spotfest of moments than an actual complete story. It has since been flushed out and written more completely. For those who read the original version, I hope you have enjoyed the additional 9 chapters._

 _The next story will be starting up in a little while. I do have to take a short break to finish up another project. Oddly enough, it's a bizarre, nonsensical, scifi comedy of sorts. It actually started off because of a dream I had where I was in a movie theater and someone said they were playing the movie that was based off a book I had written. I went in just in time to see the credits roll, seeing the names of several characters. Weird thing was that in my dream I knew exactly what this story was. When I woke up, however, I was completely lost. So I wrote down the names I saw on the screen: Narrator, Drake Mandrick, Mina Helling, Quentin Chagrin, Chance Sephen, Molotov, and Panda P. Panda and the words "weird Sci-fi comedy, Earth is being repossessed by Fomsticor Incorporated, looking for Pure Blue" because that was the only thing I could remember about the plot of this book/movie in my dream. That morning, I literally started to write it off the top of my head the best I could. Not exactly a sound writing practice, but it has been fun because absolutely none of it has to make sense ... sort of._

 _So if anyone is interested, It's called "Another Fine Product Brought to You by Fomsticor Incorporated" ... I know. Weird title. I honestly did not put much thought into it. The story, like this one, is written from the perspective of the female lead, Mina Helling. I am posting it on the Facebook page, Another Fine Product Brought to You by Fomsticor Incorporated" chapter by chapter as I complete them because ... I don't know ... Why not post it on Facebook? So it's there for anyone who would like to read it. For everyone else, Sins of the Father should begin in a week or two._


End file.
